Thomas Hood

Over the brink of it
Picture it--think of it,
Dissolute man.
Lave in it--drink read more

Over the brink of it
Picture it--think of it,
Dissolute man.
Lave in it--drink of it
Then, if you can.

Whoe'er has gone thro' London street,
Has seen a butcher gazing at his meat,
And how he read more

Whoe'er has gone thro' London street,
Has seen a butcher gazing at his meat,
And how he keeps
Gloating upon a sheep's
Or bullock's personals, as if his own;
How he admires his halves
And quarters--and his calves,
As if in truth upon his own legs grown.

A word once spoken cannot be recalled.

A word once spoken cannot be recalled.

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that read more

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow
Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below,
Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow,
Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread?

There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.

There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.