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[CA] I saw the fault lines in our common ground, But wavered—loath to estimate the force And timing of the tremors they foretold; Why test this fragile paradise we’d found, Perhaps provoking nature’s wildest course— Or dig for rifts when random knolls gleam gold? I never yet have walked a tract of earth Without a flaw: some harbor muck below That muddles building; some hide barren soil Plowed far too long to nurture crops of worth; And some lie cold, inhumed beneath the snow. Small faults should make no solid heart recoil, But you would probe our playground to the core— Unsettled by fears of earthquakes laid in store. Revision: S2, L3 "muddles" for "hinders" S2, L5 was "Why, then, should minor faults make us recoil?"