Thomas Hood ( 10 of 47 )
One more unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
One more unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams,
Unnatural and full of contradictions;
Yet others of read more
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.
Seem'd washing his hand with invisible soap
In imperceptible water.
Seem'd washing his hand with invisible soap
In imperceptible water.
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven
read more
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.
The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me.
The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me.
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.
The moon, the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shade--now read more
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!
Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold.
Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold.
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky
The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky
The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of read more
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.
