Quote

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

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Thomas Hood
Age: 45 †
Born: 1799
Born: May 23
Died: 1845
Died: May 3
Humorist
Poet
Writer
London
England
T. H.
Meet
Skies
Sweet
Waking
Morning
Rise
Hours
Clouds
Father
Thee
Give
Sky
Sweets
Giving
Flow
Incense
Sun
Rosy

More quotes by Thomas Hood

Image
There's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
Thomas Hood
Image
Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey, to undertake the labor of its fabrication.
Thomas Hood
Image
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.
Thomas Hood
Image
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
Thomas Hood
Image
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Thomas Hood
Image
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
Image
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.
Thomas Hood
Image
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Thomas Hood
Image
A name, it has more than nominal worth, And belongs to good or bad luck at birth
Thomas Hood
Image
Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.
Thomas Hood
Image
The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me.
Thomas Hood
Image
So mayst thou live, dear! many years, In all the bliss that life endears
Thomas Hood
Image
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells When on the undulating air they swim!
Thomas Hood
Image
Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
Thomas Hood
Image
Bells are musics laughter.
Thomas Hood
Image
Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, resemble copper wire, or brass, which get the narrower by going farther.
Thomas Hood
Image
No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
Thomas Hood
Image
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
Image
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
Image
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!
Thomas Hood