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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 ...
At night, at morning, and at noon, Tis all the same with Harry Gill ; Beneath the
sun, beneath the moon, His teeth they chatter, chatter still ! Young Harry was a
lusty drover, And who so stout of limb as he ? His cheeks were red as ruddy
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
He went complaining all the morrow That he was cold and very chill : His face
was gloom, his heart was sorrow, Alas ! that day for Harry Gill ! That day he wore
a riding-coat, But not a whit the warmer he : Another was on Thursday brought,
And Harry's flesh it fell away ; And all who see him say, 'tis plain, That, live as
long as live he may, He never will be warm again. No word to any man he utters,
A-bed or up, to young or old ; But ever to himself he mutters, " Poor Harry Gill is
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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.