Author Thomas Hardy They know the wilings of the world, The latest flippancy;They know each jest at hazard hurled,But know not me.They know a phasm they name as me, In whom I should not findA single self-held qualityOf body or mind. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments