Thomas Hood

"His death which happened in his berth, At forty-odd befell: They went and told the sexton, and The sexton tolled the bell."

"I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away."

"I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy."

"And there is ev'n a happiness That makes the heart afraid!"

"There's not a string attuned to mirth But has its chord in melancholy."

"But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart."

"I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like Silence, listening To silence."

"Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square."

"Never go to France Unless you know the lingo, If you do, like me, You will repent, by jingo."

"For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying."

"A man that's fond precociously of stirring, Must be a spoon."

"No sun—no moon—no morn—no noon, No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day, No warmth—no cheerfulness—no healthful ease, No road, no street, no t' other side the way, No comfortable feel in any member— No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!"

"Seem'd washing his hands with invisible soap In imperceptible water."

"Oh bed! oh bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head."

"He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles."

"One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly Young, and so fair!"

"Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!"

"Even God's providence Seeming estranged."

"What joy have I in June's return? My feet are parched—my eyeballs burn, I scent no flowery gust; But faint the flagging Zephyr springs, With dry Macadam on its wings, And turns me "dust to dust.""

"With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread— Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the “Song of the Shirt.”"

"Sewing at once a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt."

"No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief."

"My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread."

"Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work—work—work, Till the stars shine through the roof!"

"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear! Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!"

"Oh, God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap!"

"'Twas in the prime of summer-time An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool."

"And lo! the universal air Seemed lit with ghastly flame; Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes Were looking down in blame."

"My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice; My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, Was at the Devil's price: A dozen times I groaned: the dead Had never groaned but twice!"

"That very night while gentle sleep The urchin's eyelids kissed, Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Through the cold and heavy mist; And Eugene Aram walked between, With gyves upon his wrist."

"There 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 the wide desert where no life is found."

"We watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro."

"Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died."

"She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won."

"Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising God with sweetest looks."

"When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?"

"Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!"

"There's a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon."

"Home-made dishes that drive one from home."

"Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold."

"Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould."

"How widely its agencies vary,— To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless,— As even its minted coins express, Now stamped with the image of Good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary."

"Another tumble! That's his precious nose!"

"Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves."

"A wife who preaches in her gown, And lectures in her night-dress."

"Peace and rest at length have come All the day's long toil is past, And each heart is whispering, "Home, Home at last.""

"Ben Battle was a soldier bold, And used to war's alarms; But a cannon-ball took off his legs, So he laid down his arms."

"Pity it is to slay the meanest thing."

"No 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."

"Each cloud-capt mountain is a holy altar; An organ breathes in every grove; And the full heart 's a Psalter, Rich in deep hymn of gratitude and love."

"'Tis strange how like a very dunce, Man, with his bumps upon his sconce, Has lived so long, and yet no knowledge he Has had, till lately, of Phrenology— A science that by simple dint of Head-combing he should find a hint of, When scratching o'er those little pole-hills The faculties throw up like mole hills."

"The things we liked most of course were the things that more or less selected or symbolized our own feelings of conditions and life in general. For example, I recall that we liked Thomas Hood's "The Sound of the ship" Now, nothing could come closer to the way we felt than that particular poem. We also read and managed an interest in that other one, "The Bridge of Sighs" also by Thomas Hood. Later, we found "The Masque of Anarchy" by Shelley, and of course in addition to that there were the Jewish poets, like Rosenfeld and Edelshtat. They were magnificent in their writing, in their poetry depicting the life of the people in the shop."