Samuel Woodworth

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  • The Old Oaken Bucket

    How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
      When fond recollection presents them to view!
    The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood,
      And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
    The wide-spreading pond and the mill which stood by it,...

  • Loves she like me?

    O say, my flattering heart,
      Loves she like me?
    Is her’s thy counterpart,
      Throbs it like thee?
    Does she remember yet
    The spot where first we met,
    Which I shall ne’er forget,
      Loves she like me?

    Soft echoes still repeat...

  • The Bucket

    How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
      When fond recollection presents them to view!
    The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
      And every loved spot which my infancy knew!
    The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,...