C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

A Summing-Up

From ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’

I HAVE not loved the world, nor the world me;

I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed

To its idolatries a patient knee,—

Nor coined my cheek to smiles,—nor cried aloud

In worship of an echo: in the crowd

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,—

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

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.