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So mayst thou live, dear! many years, In all the bliss that life endears

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.
Life
Mayst
Bliss
Birthday
Thou
Dear
Live
Many
Years
Endears

More quotes by 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
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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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Father of rosy day, No more thy clouds of incense rise But waking flow'rs, At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.
Thomas Hood
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Bells are musics laughter.
Thomas Hood
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A man that's fond precociously of stirring , :: Must be a spoon.
Thomas Hood
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Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
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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How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
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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When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Thomas Hood
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And ye, who have met with Adversity's blast, And been bow'd to the earth by its fury To whom the Twelve Months, that have recently pass'd Were as harsh as a prejudiced jury - Still, fill to the Future! and join in our chime, The regrets of remembrance to cozen, And having obtained a New Trial of Time, Shout in hopes of a kindlier dozen.
Thomas Hood
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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
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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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Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.
Thomas Hood
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There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.
Thomas Hood
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For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Thomas Hood
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Fuss is the froth of business.
Thomas Hood
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Such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn.
Thomas Hood
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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
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The moon, the moon, so silver and cold, Her fickle temper has oft been told, Now shade--now bright and sunny-- But of all the lunar things that change, The one that shows most fickle and strange, And takes the most eccentric range, Is the moon--so called--of honey!
Thomas Hood