Sunday, April 27, 2008

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.

-George Gordon Noel Byron, Canto iii of Childe Harold

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