Maxioms by Thomas Hood
A man perfect to the finger tips.
A man perfect to the finger tips.
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells
When on the undulating air they swim!
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells
When on the undulating air they swim!
Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
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Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
At morning hours,
Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.
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.
Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold!
Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold!
