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O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!
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.
Creatures
Linen
Wife
Wives
Lives
Sisters
Mother
Motherhood
Human
Mothers
Humans
Sister
Men
Wearing
Dear
More quotes by Thomas Hood
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
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
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
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
Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
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
There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.
Thomas Hood
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
Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.
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.
Thomas Hood
There's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
Thomas Hood
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!
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
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
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
A man that's fond precociously of stirring , :: Must be a spoon.
Thomas Hood
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
Thomas Hood
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Thomas Hood
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
Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
Thomas Hood
