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Blackberries

by William Allingham
 
 

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171

[Now, little Book, go thy ways!]

Now, little Book, go thy ways!
Move, if thy legs will carry thee!
Pleasure nor profit nor praise
To me—trudge off, nor tarry thee!
Why with so cruel a blast
Thus blow thee forth?—To get quit of thee!
Clear the old desk at last,
And the mind, of every bit of thee.
Go, with a blessing!—go hang!—
Which shall I say?—leave both out?
Yet must I think with a pang
Of the world where I'm sending you, loth, out.
'Midst the cold shoulders to roam,
With a curse here and there, or a flout, cast;—
Neither abroad nor at home
Art thou wanted, pitiful Outcast!

172

Poor little Wandering Jew,
Pilgrim it! will-you, nill-you;
Welcomed of none or few;
Yet neither can any man kill you.
Go! for fate's voice is heard;
No longer with me sojourner.
Heaven send a kindly word
Whiles, and a chimney-corner!