Quote

With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread.

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.
Heavy
Rags
Labor
Needles
Woman
Weary
Inspirational
Sat
Thread
Worn
Red
Eyelids
Fingers
Needle

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No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
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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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My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.
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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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Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
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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.
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To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
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Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.
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Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
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Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
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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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The Autumn is old The sere leaves are flying He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying- Old age, begin sighing!
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Bells are musics laughter.
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How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
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O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
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Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.
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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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I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
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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.
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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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