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.]