Quote

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.
Rings
Chime
Loud
Ding
Sing
Steeples
Joy
Chimes
Able
Tune
Bells
Tunes
Ring
Peal

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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.
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Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!
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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!
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So mayst thou live, dear! many years, In all the bliss that life endears
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Half of the failures in life come from pulling one's horse when he is leaping.
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Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.
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There's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
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Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.
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No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
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Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
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Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, resemble copper wire, or brass, which get the narrower by going farther.
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Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
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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.
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A name, it has more than nominal worth, And belongs to good or bad luck at birth
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Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.
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No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!
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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.
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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.
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Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!
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Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
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