05c. 1821 ADOne more unfortunate Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
06c. 1821 ADTake her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair!Thomas Hood / quote ↗
09c. 1821 ADNo 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 / quote ↗
10c. 1821 ADNo solemn sanctimonious face I pull, Nor think I 'm pious when I 'm only bilious; Nor study in my sanctum supercilious, To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
11c. 1821 ADThe 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 / quote ↗
12c. 1821 ADWell 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 labour of its fabrication.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
13c. 1821 ADWork, work, work, / Till the brain begins to swim; / Work, work, work, / Till the eyes are heavy and dim; / Seam, and gusset, and band, / Band, and gusset, and seam, / Till over the buttons I fall asleep, / And sew them on in a dream.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
14c. 1821 ADTo attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
15c. 1821 ADIt is not death, that sometime in a sigh This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight; That sometime these bright stars, that now reply In sunlight to the sun, shall set in night; That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite, And all life’s ruddy springs forget to flow; That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal spright Be lapp’d in alien clay and laid below; It is not death to know this,—but to know That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go So duly and so oft—and when grass waves Over the passed-away, there may be then No resurrection in the minds of men.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
16c. 1821 ADAnd Christians love in the turf to lie, Not in watery graves to be— Nay, the very fishes would sooner die On the land than in the sea.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
17c. 1821 ADHe told how murderers walked the earth Beneath the curse of Cain; With crimson clouds before their eyes, And flames about their brain: For blood has left upon their souls Its everlasting stain!Thomas Hood / quote ↗
19c. 1821 ADAn irritable man lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, tormenting himself with his own prickles.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
20c. 1821 ADWhat is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind. What is the soul? It is immaterial.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
21c. 1821 ADI saw old Autumn in the misty mornStand shadowless like silence, listeningTo silence, for no lonely bird would singInto his hollow ear from woods forlorn,Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn; --Shaking his languid locks all dewy brightWith tangled gossamer that fell by night,Pearling his coronet of golden corn.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
22c. 1821 ADPeace and rest at length have comeAll the day's long toil is past,And each heart is whispering, 'Home,Home at last.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
23c. 1821 ADNo sun—no moon! No morn—no noon—No dawn— No sky—no earthly view— No distance looking blue—No road—no street—no "t'other side the way"— No end to any Row— No indications where the Crescents go— No top to any steeple—No recognitions of familiar people— No courtesies for showing 'em— No knowing 'em!No traveling at all—no locomotion,No inkling of the way—no notion— "No go"—by land or ocean— No mail—no post— No news from any foreign coast—No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility— No company—no nobility—No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member—No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!Thomas Hood / quote ↗
24c. 1821 ADSilenceTHERE is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be, In the cold grave—under the deep, deep sea, Or in wide desert where no life is found, Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound; No voice is hush'd—no life treads silently, But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free, That never spoke, over the idle ground: But in green ruins, in the desolate walls Of antique palaces, where Man hath been, Though the dun fox or wild hyæna calls, And owls, that flit continually between, Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan— There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.Thomas Hood / quote ↗
