Thomas Hood

Poor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street
Till--think of that who find life so sweet!--
She read more

Poor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street
Till--think of that who find life so sweet!--
She hates the smell of roses!

But who would rush at a benighted man, and give him two black eyes for being blind?.

But who would rush at a benighted man, and give him two black eyes for being blind?.

A man perfect to the finger tips.

A man perfect to the finger tips.

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.

Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
read more

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.