Thomas Hood

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

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

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!

And soon
Their hushing dances languished to a stand,
Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon,
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And soon
Their hushing dances languished to a stand,
Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon,
All on their drooping stems they sink unfanned.

Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!

Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!

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?