Thomas Hood

One more unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

One more unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that read more

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?

The year's in wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And read more

The year's in wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;
Cold winter gives warning!

Well, something must be done for May,
The time is drawing nigh--
To figure in the Catalogue,
read more

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?

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

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