““(Childe Harold, Canto iii. Stanzas 113, 114.) I HAVE not loved the world, nor the world me; I have not flatter’d its rank breath, nor bow’d To its idolatries a patient knee,— Nor coin’d my cheek to smiles,—nor cried aloud In worship of an echo; in the crowd 5 They could not deem me one of such; I stood Among them, but not of them; in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed my mind, which thus itself subdued. I have not loved the world, nor the world me,— 10 But let us part fair foes; I do believe, Though I have found them not, that there may be Words which are things,—hopes which will not deceive, And virtues which are merciful, nor weave Snares for the failing: I would also deem 15 O’er others’ griefs that some sincerely grieve; That two, or one, are almost what they seem,— That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.””
