Quote

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

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Thomas Hood
Age: 45 †
Born: 1799
Born: May 23
Died: 1845
Died: May 3
Humorist
Poet
Writer
London
England
T. H.
Legs
Cannon
Battle
Cannons
Took
Alarms
Arms
Bold
War
Laid
Used
Ball
Soldier
Balls

More quotes by Thomas Hood

Image
Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!
Thomas Hood
Image
Oh! God! That bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap!
Thomas Hood
Image
Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.
Thomas Hood
Image
With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread.
Thomas Hood
Image
Fuss is the froth of business.
Thomas Hood
Image
Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
Thomas Hood
Image
Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!
Thomas Hood
Image
Bells are musics laughter.
Thomas Hood
Image
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!
Thomas Hood
Image
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
Image
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
Image
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.
Thomas Hood
Image
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Thomas Hood
Image
Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
Thomas Hood
Image
Whoe'er has gone thro' London street, Has seen a butcher gazing at his meat, And how he keeps Gloating upon a sheep's Or bullock's personals, as if his own How he admires his halves And quarters--and his calves, As if in truth upon his own legs grown.
Thomas Hood
Image
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.
Thomas Hood
Image
There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.
Thomas Hood
Image
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.
Thomas Hood
Image
No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
Thomas Hood
Image
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Thomas Hood