Thomas Hood

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?

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.

Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread, but read more

Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find
The daisy at thy feet.

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.

Now, really, this appears the common case
Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday--
But what is read more

Now, really, this appears the common case
Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday--
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?