Thomas Hood

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun.
Oh! it was pitiful!
read more

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun.
Oh! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home had she none.

The cowslip is a country wench.

The cowslip is a country wench.

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams,
Unnatural and full of contradictions;
Yet others of read more

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams,
Unnatural and full of contradictions;
Yet others of our most romantic schemes
Are something more than fictions.

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like silence, listening
To silence, for no read more

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;--
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
With tangled gossamer that fell by night,
Pearling his coronet of golden corn.

Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold!

Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold!