To lift one if one totters down,
Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,
And tell them other early prime,
In such a jocund company!
He will not see me stopping here
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
a big hirsute begonia.
Damsons and bilberries,
Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
To lift one if one totters down,
Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,
And tell them other early prime,
In such a jocund company!
He will not see me stopping here
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
a big hirsute begonia.
Damsons and bilberries,
Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,
And life is too much like a pathless wood