Thomas Hood

At night, to his own dark fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
read more

At night, to his own dark fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
Tormenting himself with his prickles.

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like silence, listening
To silence, for no read more

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;--
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
With tangled gossamer that fell by night,
Pearling his coronet of golden corn.

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.

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!

There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.

There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.