1.
With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread.
Thomas Hood
2.
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!
Thomas Hood
3.
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
4.
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells When on the undulating air they swim!
Thomas Hood
5.
My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread.
Thomas Hood
6.
Coquetry is the champagne of love.
Thomas Hood
7.
Whoe'er has gone thro' London street, Has seen a butcher gazing at his meat, And how he keeps Gloating upon a sheep's Or bullock's personals, as if his own; How he admires his halves And quarters--and his calves, As if in truth upon his own legs grown.
Thomas Hood
8.
There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
Thomas Hood
9.
Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, resemble copper wire, or brass, which get the narrower by going farther.
Thomas Hood
10.
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
11.
I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
Thomas Hood
12.
I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where
the sun
Came peeping in at morn.
Thomas Hood
13.
Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!
Thomas Hood
14.
So mayst thou live, dear! many years,
In all the bliss that life endears
Thomas Hood
15.
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.'
Thomas Hood
16.
When Eve upon the first of Men The apple press'd with specious cant, Oh! what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adamant!
Thomas Hood
17.
To attempt to advise conceited people is like whistling against the wind.
Thomas Hood
18.
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.
Thomas Hood
19.
The cowslip is a country wench.
Thomas Hood
20.
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.
Thomas Hood
21.
The moon, the moon, so silver and cold, Her fickle temper has oft been told, Now shade--now bright and sunny-- But of all the lunar things that change, The one that shows most fickle and strange, And takes the most eccentric range, Is the moon--so called--of honey!
Thomas Hood
22.
O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
Thomas Hood
23.
Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!
Thomas Hood
24.
Some sigh for this and that; My wishes don't go far; The world may wag at will, So I have my cigar.
Thomas Hood
25.
A moment's thinking is an hour in words.
Thomas Hood
26.
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
Thomas Hood
27.
Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go Over those hoary crests, divinely led! Art thou that huntress of the silver bow Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow, Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread?
Thomas Hood
28.
When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?
Thomas Hood
29.
Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.
Thomas Hood
30.
Peace and rest at length have come,
All the day's long toil is past;
And each heart is whispering, "Home,
Home at last!"
Thomas Hood
31.
Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.
Thomas Hood
32.
What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind. What is the soul? It is immaterial.
Thomas Hood
33.
Half of the failures in life come from pulling one's horse when he is leaping.
Thomas Hood
34.
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.
Thomas Hood
35.
The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me.
Thomas Hood
36.
Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.
Thomas Hood
37.
The biggest bore of all is he who is overflowing with congratulations
Thomas Hood
38.
It was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast!
It was the time of roses,
We plucked them as we passed!
Thomas Hood
39.
But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart!
Thomas Hood
40.
The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!
Thomas Hood
41.
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.
Thomas Hood
42.
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
43.
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
44.
Extremes meet', as the whiting said with its tail in its mouth.
Thomas Hood
45.
Spontaneously to God should turn the soul, Like the magnetic needle to the pole; But what were that intrinsic virtue worth, Suppose some fellow, with more zeal than knowledge, Fresh from St. Andrew's College, Should nail the conscious needle to the north?
Thomas Hood
46.
A name, it has more than nominal worth, And belongs to good or bad luck at birth
Thomas Hood
47.
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
48.
The best of friends fall out, and so his teeth had done some years ago.
Thomas Hood
49.
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
50.
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Thomas Hood
