Thomas Hood

While the steeples are loud in their joy,
To the tune of the bells' ring-a-ding,
Let us read more

While the steeples are loud in their joy,
To the tune of the bells' ring-a-ding,
Let us chime in a peal, one and all,
For we all should be able to sing Hullah baloo.

The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me.

The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me.

'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so read more

'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so long, and yet no knowledge he
Has had, till lately, of Phrenology--
A science that by simple dint of
Head-combing he should find a hint of,
When scratching o'er those little pole-hills
The faculties throw up like mole hills.

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 Autumn is old;
The sere leaves are flying;
He hath gather'd up gold,
read more

The Autumn is old;
The sere leaves are flying;
He hath gather'd up gold,
And now he is dying;--
Old age, begin sighing!