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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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Thomas Hood
Age: 45 †
Born: 1799
Born: May 23
Died: 1845
Died: May 3
Humorist
Poet
Writer
London
England
T. H.
Bells
Tunes
Ring
Peal
Rings
Chime
Loud
Ding
Sing
Steeples
Joy
Chimes
Able
Tune
More quotes by Thomas Hood
Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.
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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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How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
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Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.
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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.
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How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
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To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
Thomas Hood
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells When on the undulating air they swim!
Thomas Hood
Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.
Thomas Hood
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
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!
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Such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn.
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
There's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
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For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
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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
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
The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me.
Thomas Hood
Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
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