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 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; 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- Can be so wrapt in thee; thou art the friend CXVI. To aid thy mind's developement,-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 duty should be taught, Though the grave closed between us, 't were the same, 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! |