Maxioms by Thomas Hood
Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold!
Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold!
Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!
Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!
She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of read more
She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.
The Quaker loves an ample brim,
A hat that bows to no Salaam;
And dear the beaver read more
The Quaker loves an ample brim,
A hat that bows to no Salaam;
And dear the beaver is to him
As if it never made a dam.
