There is indeed a selfish seeming, where the anchorite liveth alone,
But probe his thoughts,—they travel far, dreaming for ever of the world:
And there is an apparent generosity, when a man mixeth freely with his fellows;
But prove his mind, by day and night, his thoughts are all of self:
The world, inciting him to pleasures, or relentlessly provoking him to toil,
Is full of anxious rivals, each with a difference of interest;
So must he plan and practise for himself, even as his own best friend;
And the gay soul of dissipation never had a thought unselfish.
The hermit standeth out of strife, abiding in a contemplative calmness;
What shall he contemplate,—himself? a meagre theme for musing: