Thomas Hood

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.

And daisy-stars, whose firmament is green.

And daisy-stars, whose firmament is green.

A bad reader soon puts to flight both wise men and fools.

A bad reader soon puts to flight both wise men and fools.

The moon, the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shade--now read more

The moon, the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shade--now bright and sunny--
But of all the lunar things that change,
The one that shows most fickle and strange,
And takes the most eccentric range,
Is the moon--so called--of honey!