Thomas Hood ( 10 of 47 )
Over the brink of it
Picture it--think of it,
Dissolute man.
Lave in it--drink read more
Over the brink of it
Picture it--think of it,
Dissolute man.
Lave in it--drink of it
Then, if you can.
Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun.
Oh! it was pitiful!
read more
Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun.
Oh! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home had she none.
The year's in wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And read more
The year's in wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;
Cold winter gives warning!
'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.
What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched--my eyeballs burn,
I scent no flowery read more
What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched--my eyeballs burn,
I scent no flowery gust;
But faint the flagging zephyr springs,
With dry Macadam on its wings,
And turns me "dust to dust."
O bed! O bed! delicious bed!
That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
O bed! O bed! delicious bed!
That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
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.
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread, but read more
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find
The daisy at thy feet.
Well, something must be done for May,
The time is drawing nigh--
To figure in the Catalogue,
read more
Well, something must be done for May,
The time is drawing nigh--
To figure in the Catalogue,
And woo the public eye.
Something I must invent and paint;
But oh my wit is not
Like one of those kind substantives
That answer Who and What?
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.
