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Tis like the birthday of the world, When earth was born in bloom; The light is made of many dyes, The air is all perfume: There's crimson buds, and white and blue, The very rainbow showers Have turned to blossoms where they fell, And sown the earth with flowers.
Thomas Hood -
Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!
Thomas Hood
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What is a modern poet's fate? / To write his thoughts upon a slate; / The critic spits on what is done, / Gives it a wipe - and all is gone.
Thomas Hood -
Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, resemble copper wire, or brass, which get the narrower by going farther.
Thomas Hood -
With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread.
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 -
There are three things which the public will always clamour for, sooner or later; namely: novelty, novelty, novelty.
Thomas Hood -
Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.
Thomas Hood
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Half of the failures in life come from pulling one's horse when he is leaping.
Thomas Hood -
I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn.
Thomas Hood -
I resolved that, like the sun, as long as my day lasted, I would look on the bright side of everything.
Thomas Hood -
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
Thomas Hood -
Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
Thomas Hood -
Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.
Thomas Hood
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Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
Thomas Hood -
O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!
Thomas Hood -
For man may pious texts repeat, And yet religion have no inward seat
Thomas Hood -
I love thee - I love thee, 'Tis all that I can say, It is my vision in the night, My dreaming in the day.
Thomas Hood -
O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
Thomas Hood -
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
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No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!
Thomas Hood -
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Thomas Hood -
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 -
A man that's fond precociously of stirring, Must be a spoon.
Thomas Hood