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GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL, A TRUE STORY. Oh ! what's the matter ?
what's the matter ? What is't that ails young Harry Gill ? That evermore his teeth
they chatter, Chatter, chatter, chatter still ! Of waistcoats Harry has no lack, Good ...
Old Goody Blake was old and poor ; 111 fed she was, and thinly clad ; And any
man who passed her door Might see how poor a hut she had. All day she spun in
her poor dwelling : And then her three hours' work at night Alas ! 'twas hardly ...
But when the ice our streams did fetter, Oh ! then how her old bones would shake
, You would have said, if you had met her, 'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. Her
evenings then were dull and dead ! Sad case it was, as you may think, For very ...
Now, when the frost was past enduring, And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could any thing be more alluring Than an old hedge to Goody Blake ? And, now
and then, it must be said, When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her
on tip-toe down the hill He softly creeps — 'Tis Goody Blake, She's at the hedge
of Harry Gill. Right glad was he when he beheld her : Stick after stick did Goody
pull : He stood behind a bush of elder, Till she had filled her apron full. When with
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the kitten of the filling leaves bp[y willam words worth
My favorite is "Solitary Reaper". When I first read it, I fell in love with the poem. It's like Wordsworth wrote it for me only.
I always feel understood and totally embraced everytime I read this poem and walk away with a full heart.