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John Keats
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A Song about Myself
by John Keats (July 2nd, 1818).

There was a naughty Boy,
    A naughty boy was he,
He would not stop at home,
    He could not quiet be—
       He took
       In his Knapsack
       A Book
       Full of vowels
       And a shirt
       With some towels—
       A slight cap
       For night cap—
       A hair brush,
       Comb ditto,
       New Stockings
       For old ones
       Would split O!
       This Knapsack
       Tight at's back
       He rivetted close
And followéd his Nose
    To the North,
    To the North,
And follow'd his nose
    To the North.

There was a naughty boy
    And a naughty boy was he,
For nothing would he do
    But scribble poetry—
       He took
       An inkstand
       In his hand
       And a Pen
       Big as ten
       In the other,
       And away
       In a Pother
       He ran
       To the mountains
       And fountains
       And ghostes
       And Postes
       And witches
       And ditches
       And wrote
       In his coat
       When the weather
       Was cool,
       Fear of gout,
       And without
       When the weather
       Was warm—
       Och the charm
       When we choose
    To follow one's nose
       To the north,
       To the north,
    To follow one's nose
       To the north!

There was a naughty boy
    And a naughty boy was he,
He kept little fishes
    In washing tubs three
       In spite
       Of the might
       Of the Maid
       Nor afraid
       Of his Granny-good—
       He often would
       Hurly burly
       Get up early
       And go
       By hook or crook
       To the brook
       And bring home
       Miller's thumb,
       Not over fat,
       Minnows small
       As the stall
       Of a glove,
       Not above
       The size
       Of a nice
       Little Baby's
       Little fingers—
       O he made
       'Twas his trade
    Of Fish a pretty Kettle
       A Kettle—
       A Kettle
    Of Fish a pretty Kettle
       A Kettle!

There was a naughy Boy,
    And a naughty Boy was he,
He ran away to Scotland
    The people for to see—
       Then he found
       That the ground
       Was as hard,
       That a yard
       Was as long,
       That a song
       Was as merry,
       That a cherry
       Was as red—
       That lead
       Was as weighty,
       That fourscore
       Was as eighty,
       That a door
       Was as wooden
       As in England—
    So he stood in his shoes
       And he wonder'd,
       He wonder'd,
    He stood in his shoes
       And he wonder'd.

PAGE 1 OF 1.

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AUTHOR: John Keats (July 2nd, 1818).
TITLE OF WEBPAGE: PoeticSpace:Keats:Poems:ASongAboutMyself:Page1
TITLE OF WEBSITE: Poetic SpacePUBLISHER: Lannie Brockstein

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