V.

And he scorned them, and they scorned him; And he scorned all they did; and they Did all that men of their own trim Are wont to do to please their whim, Drinking, lying, swearing, play.

Such were his fellow-servants; thus His virtue, like our own, was built Too much on that indignant fuss Hypocrite Pride stirs up in us To bully one another's guilt.

He had a mind which was somehow At once circumference and centre Of all he might or feel or know; Nothing went ever out, although Something did ever enter.

He had as much imagination As a pint-pot;--he never could Fancy another situation, From which to dart his contemplation, Than that wherein he stood.

Yet his was individual mind, And new created all he saw In a new manner, and refined Those new creations, and combined Them, by a master-spirit's law.

Thus--though unimaginative-- An apprehension clear, intense, Of his mind's work, had made alive The things it wrought on; I believe Wakening a sort of thought in sense.

But from the first 'twas Peter's drift To be a kind of moral eunuch, He touched the hem of Nature's shift, Felt faint--and never dared uplift The closest, all-concealing tunic.

She laughed the while, with an arch smile, And kissed him with a sister's kiss. And said--'My best Diogenes, I love you well--but, if you please, Tempt not again my deepest bliss.