Thomas Hood

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

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

What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched--my eyeballs burn,
I scent no flowery read more

What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched--my eyeballs burn,
I scent no flowery gust;
But faint the flagging zephyr springs,
With dry Macadam on its wings,
And turns me "dust to dust."

All men do not admire and delight in the same objects.

All men do not admire and delight in the same objects.

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!

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.