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Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
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.
Waves
Wave
Ocean
Silvery
Breezy
Whilst
Spray
Toss
More quotes by Thomas Hood
Well, something must be done for May, The time is drawing nigh-- To figure in the Catalogue, And woo the public eye. Something I must invent and paint But oh my wit is not Like one of those kind substantives That answer Who and What?
Thomas Hood
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Thomas Hood
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Thomas Hood
No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
Thomas Hood
To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
Thomas Hood
I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
Thomas Hood
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!
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
There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.
Thomas Hood
The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.
Thomas Hood
Fuss is the froth of business.
Thomas Hood
Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!
Thomas Hood
My brain is dull, my sight is foul, I cannot write a verse, or read-- Then, Pallas, take away thine Owl, And let us have a lark instead.
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
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
Such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn.
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
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
A man that's fond precociously of stirring , :: Must be a spoon.
Thomas Hood
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells When on the undulating air they swim!
Thomas Hood