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How dear to my 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 that stood by it, the bridge and the rock where the cataract fell; the cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, and e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, the moss-covered bucket that hung in the well.
The Old Oaken Bucket (poem) by Samuel Woodworth
Language: English
Submitted by: volhosis
This text has been typed more than 1000 times:
Avg. speed: 82 WPM
Avg. accuracy: 96.7%

Top 10 scores for this text

User Speed Accuracy Points Place Date Options
1 joshua728 216 WPM 100.0% 309 1/2 Jan. 17, 2023
2 ghostizzy 194 WPM 99.0% 278 1/2 Sept. 17, 2020
3 slekap 178 WPM 99.0% 255 1/4 Aug. 3, 2020
4 ap02 173 WPM 99.0% 249 1/2 Oct. 2, 2020
5 shazman 172 WPM 99.0% 246 1/3 Aug. 12, 2020
6 rainnonquit 168 WPM 100.0% 241 1/2 Dec. 20, 2022
7 atthetop 166 WPM 99.0% 238 1/2 Nov. 30, 2020
8 keegant 166 WPM 99.0% 238 1/2 May 29, 2022
9 deroche1 164 WPM 98.0% 235 1/2 Dec. 13, 2020
10 arc_sec 161 WPM 99.0% 231 1/1 July 19, 2020