Thomas Hood

Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.

Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.

Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!

Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!

But she is vanish'd to her shady home
Under the deep, inscrutable; and there
Weeps in a read more

But she is vanish'd to her shady home
Under the deep, inscrutable; and there
Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair.

A cup concealed in the dress is rarely honestly carried.

A cup concealed in the dress is rarely honestly carried.

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young and so read more

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young and so fair!