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The year's in wane There is nothing adorning The night has no eve, And the day has no morning Cold winter gives warning!
Thomas Hood
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Thomas Hood
Age: 45 †
Born: 1799
Born: May 23
Died: 1845
Died: May 3
Humorist
Poet
Writer
London
England
T. H.
Morning
Year
Adorning
Fall
Wane
Night
Warning
Nothing
Autumn
Giving
Winter
Years
Gives
Cold
More quotes by Thomas Hood
Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey, to undertake the labor of its fabrication.
Thomas Hood
The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me.
Thomas Hood
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
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I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs, where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburmum on his birthday,- The tree is living yet.
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How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
Thomas Hood
O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
Thomas Hood
Spontaneously to God should turn the soul, Like the magnetic needle to the pole But what were that intrinsic virtue worth, Suppose some fellow, with more zeal than knowledge, Fresh from St. Andrew's College, Should nail the conscious needle to the north?
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I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
Thomas Hood
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
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Ben Battle was a soldier bold, and used to war's alarms, But a cannon-ball took off his legs, so he laid down his arms.
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I love thee - I love thee, 'Tis all that I can say, It is my vision in the night, My dreaming in the day.
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Fuss is the froth of business.
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With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread.
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Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
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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.
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Bells are musics laughter.
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Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!
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Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.
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Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells When on the undulating air they swim!
Thomas Hood
We watch'd her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.
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