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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.
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.
Arms
Bold
War
Laid
Used
Ball
Soldier
Balls
Legs
Cannon
Battle
Cannons
Took
Alarms
More quotes by Thomas Hood
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells When on the undulating air they swim!
Thomas Hood
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
I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
Thomas Hood
With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread.
Thomas Hood
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.
Thomas Hood
How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
Thomas Hood
The Autumn is old The sere leaves are flying He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying- Old age, begin sighing!
Thomas Hood
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
O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
Thomas Hood
To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
Thomas Hood
The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.
Thomas Hood
Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
Thomas Hood
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.
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?
Thomas Hood
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.'
Thomas Hood
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
Thomas Hood
Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
Thomas Hood
Bells are musics laughter.
Thomas Hood
A man that's fond precociously of stirring , :: Must be a spoon.
Thomas Hood
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?
Thomas Hood