Thomas Hood ( 10 of 47 )
Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
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Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
At morning hours,
Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.
Over the brink of it
Picture it--think of it,
Dissolute man.
Lave in it--drink read more
Over the brink of it
Picture it--think of it,
Dissolute man.
Lave in it--drink of it
Then, if you can.
O bed! O bed! delicious bed!
That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
O bed! O bed! delicious bed!
That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
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!
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."
'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so read more
'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so long, and yet no knowledge he
Has had, till lately, of Phrenology--
A science that by simple dint of
Head-combing he should find a hint of,
When scratching o'er those little pole-hills
The faculties throw up like mole hills.
There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread, but read more
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find
The daisy at thy feet.
"Good, well-dress'd turtle beats them hollow,--
It almost makes me wish, I vow,
To have two stomachs, read more
"Good, well-dress'd turtle beats them hollow,--
It almost makes me wish, I vow,
To have two stomachs, like a cow!"
And lo! as with the cud, an inward thrill
Upheaved his waistcoat and disturb'd his frill,
His mouth was oozing, and he work'd his jaw--
"I almost that that I could eat one raw."
Well, something must be done for May,
The time is drawing nigh--
To figure in the Catalogue,
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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?
