Blackberries | ||
['Twere well, in sooth]
'Twere well, in sooth,Could we sift things out;
But we can't find truth,
And we don't want doubt.
So let old things stay,
In whatever jumble;
Touch them, straightway
They crumble and tumble,
Choke us with dust, fall on our toes.
—You that come after us, deal with those!
Blackberries | ||