CXII. And for these words, thus woven into song, I stood and stand alone,-remember'd or forgot. CXIII. I have not loved the world, nor the world me; Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud They could not deem me one of such; I stood Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed (24) my mind, which thus itself subdued. CXIV. 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; (25) That two, or one, are almost what they seem, That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. CXV. My daughter! with thy name this song begun— I see thee not, I hear thee not,—but none CXVI. To aid thy mind's development,—to watch And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,— I know not what is there, yet something like to this. CXVII. Yet, though dull Hate as dutý should be taught, Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught and a broken claim: Though the grave closed between us,-'twere the same, I know that thou wilt love me; though to drain My blood from out thy being, were an aim, And an attainment,-all would be in vain, Still thou would'st love me, still that more than life retain. CXVIII. The child of love,-though born in bitterness, As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to me! |