By William Wordsworth
My thirst at each rill can slake, And gladly Nature's love partake Of thee, candy Daisy! while soothed it slow through milder airs, Thee wintry weather within the garland wears 10 That thinly colours his few gray hairs
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Additional info for Poems in Two Volumes, Volume 1
That echoes faraway from hill to hill. negative Betty now has misplaced all desire, Her options are bent on lethal sin; A green-grown pond she simply has handed, And from the threshold she hurries quick, Lest she may still drown herself therein. And now she sits her down and weeps; Such tears she by no means shed sooner than; ‘O pricey, expensive pony! my candy pleasure! Oh hold again my fool boy! And we are going to ne’er o’erload thee extra. ’ A concept is come into her head; ‘The pony he's gentle and reliable, And we have now constantly used him good; possibly he’s long gone alongside the dell, And carried Johnny to the wooden. ’ Then up she springs as though on wings; She thinks not more of lethal sin; If Betty fifty ponds may still see, The final of all her suggestions will be, To drown herself therein. Oh reader! now that i'd inform What Johnny and his horse are doing! What they’ve been doing all this time, Oh may I placed it into rhyme, A most pleasurable story pursuing! might be, and no not likely suggestion! He together with his pony now doth roam The cliffs and peaks so excessive which are, to put his fingers upon a celeb, And in his pocket carry it domestic. possibly he’s grew to become himself approximately, His face unto his horse’s tail, And nonetheless and mute, in ask yourself misplaced, All like a silent horseman-ghost, He travels on alongside the vale. And now, probably, he’s looking sheep, A fierce and dreadful hunter he! Yon valley, that’s so trim and eco-friendly, In 5 months’ time, may still he be obvious, A desart desert might be. possibly, with head and heels on hearth, and prefer the very soul of evil, He’s galloping away, away, And so he’ll gallop on for aye, The bane of all that dread the satan. I to the muses were certain, those fourteen years, by means of robust indentures; Oh light muses! permit me inform yet half what to him befel. evidently he met with unusual adventures. Oh light muses! is that this variety? Why will ye therefore my swimsuit repel? Why of your extra reduction bereave me? and will ye hence unfriended go away me? Ye muses! whom i admire so good. Who’s yon, that close to the water-fall, Which thunders down with headlong strength, underneath the moon, but shining reasonable, As careless as though not anything have been, Sits upright on a feeding horse? Unto his horse, that’s feeding loose, He turns out, i believe, the rein to provide; Of moon or stars he's taking no heed; Of such we in romances learn, –’Tis Johnny! Johnny! as I reside. And that’s the very pony too. the place is she, the place is Betty Foy? She infrequently can maintain her fears; The roaring water-fall she hears, and can't locate her fool boy. Your pony’s worthy his weight in gold, Then calm your terrors, Betty Foy! She’s coming from one of the timber, And now, all complete in view, she sees Him whom she loves, her fool boy. And Betty sees the horse too: Why stand you therefore reliable Betty Foy? it's not goblin, ‘tis no ghost, ’Tis he whom you goodbye have misplaced, He whom you're keen on, your fool boy. She seems to be back – her palms are up – She screams – she can't circulation for pleasure; She darts as with a torrent’s strength, She nearly has o’erturned the pony, And speedy she holds her fool boy. And Johnny burrs and laughs aloud, even if in crafty or in pleasure, i will not inform; yet whereas he laughs, Betty a drunken excitement quaffs, to listen to back her fool boy.