Explore "1967" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
IN five-score summers! All new eyes, / New minds, new modes, new fools, new wise; / New woes to weep, new joys to prize;
With nothing left of me and you / In that live century's vivid view / Beyond a pinch of dust or two;
A century which, if not sublime, / Will show, I doubt not, at its prime, / A scope above this blinkered time.
-Yet what to me how far above? / For I would only ask thereof / That thy worm should be my worm, Love!