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No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!

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.
Leaves
Fruits
Shining
Bees
Fruit
Butterfly
Bird
Shine
Flower
Autumn
Fall
Shade
Birds
Butterflies
Flowers
November

More quotes by Thomas Hood

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Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
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My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.
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Lives of great men oft remind us as we o'er their pages turn, That we too may leave behind us - Letters that we ought to burn.
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Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!
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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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O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
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My brain is dull, my sight is foul, I cannot write a verse, or read-- Then, Pallas, take away thine Owl, And let us have a lark instead.
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Half of the failures in life come from pulling one's horse when he is leaping.
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I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
Thomas Hood
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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.
Thomas Hood
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No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
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How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
Thomas Hood
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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.
Thomas Hood
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Bells are musics laughter.
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No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon, No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day, . . . . . . No road, no street, no t' other side the way, . . . . . . No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no buds.
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There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.
Thomas Hood
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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.
Thomas Hood
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A man that's fond precociously of stirring , :: Must be a spoon.
Thomas Hood
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To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
Thomas Hood
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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.
Thomas Hood