Thomas Hood

'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so read more

'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so long, and yet no knowledge he
Has had, till lately, of Phrenology--
A science that by simple dint of
Head-combing he should find a hint of,
When scratching o'er those little pole-hills
The faculties throw up like mole hills.

Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

And however are Dennises take offence,
A double meaning shows double sense;
And if proverbs tell truth,
read more

And however are Dennises take offence,
A double meaning shows double sense;
And if proverbs tell truth,
A double tooth
Is wisdom's adopted dwelling.

One more unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

One more unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Seem'd washing his hand with invisible soap
In imperceptible water.

Seem'd washing his hand with invisible soap
In imperceptible water.