Maxioms by Thomas Hood
Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.
Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.
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.
Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!
Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives.
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives.
A man perfect to the finger tips.
A man perfect to the finger tips.
