CXIII.

I have not loved the World, nor the World me; I have not flattered its rank breath,[350] 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[351]--in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed my mind, which thus itself subdued.[23.B.]