''Twill take some getting.' 'Sir, I think 'twill so.'
The old man stared up at the mistletoe
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Harry, you know at night
The larks in Castle Alley
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The forest ended. Glad I was
To feel the light, and hear the hum
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Under the after-sunset sky
Two pewits sport and cry,
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Often and often it came back again
To mind, the day I passed the horizon ridge
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f I were to own this countryside
As far as a man in a day could ride,
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One hour: as dim he and his house now look
As a reflection in a rippling brook,
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He has a hump like an ape on his back;
He has of money a plentiful lack;
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How at once should I know,
When stretched in the harvest blue
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t stood in the sunset sky
Like the straight-backed down,
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Out in the sun the goldfinch flits
Along the thistle-tops, flits and twits
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Gone the wild day:
A wilder night
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Fair was the morning, fair our tempers, and
We had seen nothing fairer than that land,
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Often I had gone this way before
But now it seemed I never could be
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Half of the grove stood dead, and those that yet lived made
Little more than the dead ones made of shade.
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Now first, as I shut the door,
I was alone
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It was upon a July evening.
At a stile I stood, looking along a path
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The last light has gone out of the world, except
This moonlight lying on the grass like frost
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They should never have built a barn there, at all -
Drip, drip, drip! - under that elm tree,
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The long small room that showed willows in the west
Narrowed up to the end the fireplace filled,
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That's the cuckoo, you say. I cannot hear it.
When last I heard it I cannot recall; but I know
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Mother, the root of this little yellow flower
Among the stones has the taste of quinine.
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If I should ever by chance grow rich
I'll buy Codham, Cockridden, and Childerditch,
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She is most fair,
And when they see her pass
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'He rolls in the orchard: he is stained with moss
And with earth, the solitary old white horse.
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The Combe was ever dark, ancient and dark.
Its mouth is stopped with brambles, thorn, and briar;
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A fortnight before Christmas Gypsies were everywhere:
Vans were drawn up on wastes, women trailed to the fair.
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Seated once by a brook, watching a child
Chiefly that paddled, I was thus beguiled.
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The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood
This Eastertide call into mind the men,
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There was a weasel lived in the sun
With all his family,
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