 | Life and Literary Remains of L. E. L. |  |
274
SELF-BLINDNESS.
What Shakspeare said of lovers, might applyTo all the world—“'Tis well they do not see
The pretty follies that themselves commit.”
Could we but turn upon ourselves the eyes
With which we look on others, life would pass
In one perpetual blush and smile.
The smile, how bitter!—for 'tis scorn's worst task
To scorn ourselves; and yet we could not choose
But mock our actions, all we say or do,
If we but saw them as we others see.
Life's best repose is blindness to itself.
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