Maxioms by Thomas Hood
What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched--my eyeballs burn,
I scent no flowery read more
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."
Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
For my part getting up seems not so easy
By half as lying.
For my part getting up seems not so easy
By half as lying.
Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.
Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.
Where is the pride of Summer,--the green prime,--
The many, many leaves all twinkling?--three
On the mossed read more
Where is the pride of Summer,--the green prime,--
The many, many leaves all twinkling?--three
On the mossed elm; three on the naked lime
Trembling,--and one upon the old oak tree!
Where is the Dryad's immortality?
