Thomas Hood
Comfort and indolence are cronies.Collection: Comfort
Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey, to undertake the labor of its fabrication.Collection: Honey
For man may pious texts repeat, And yet religion have no inward seatCollection: Men
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?Collection: Eye
Bells are musics laughter.Collection: Christmas
O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!Collection: Sister
The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!Collection: Morning
Oh! God! That bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap!Collection: Struggle
But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart!Collection: Heart
My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread.Collection: Tears
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;- Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.Collection: Lonely
A man that's fond precociously of stirring , :;:; Must be a spoon.Collection: Men
Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!Collection: Christian
The biggest bore of all is he who is overflowing with congratulationsCollection: Congratulations
My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.Collection: Dog
The Autumn is old; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying;- Old age, begin sighing!Collection: Autumn
Some sigh for this and that; My wishes don't go far; The world may wag at will, So I have my cigar.Collection: Wish
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?Collection: Men
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!Collection: Moon
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?Collection: Mother
Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.Collection: Book
Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.Collection: Blessing
Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!Collection: Bed
How widely its agencies vary,- To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless,- As even its minted coins express, Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary.Collection: Queens
Ben Battle was a soldier bold, and used to war's alarms, But a cannon-ball took off his legs, so he laid down his arms.Collection: War
While the steeples are loud in their joy, To the tune of the bells' ring-a-ding, Let us chime in a peal, one and all, For we all should be able to sing Hullah baloo.Collection: Joy
Dear bells! how sweet the sound of village bells When on the undulating air they swim!Collection: Sweet
A name, it has more than nominal worth, And belongs to good or bad luck at birthCollection: Names
Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones.Collection: Running
Whoe'er has gone thro' London street, Has seen a butcher gazing at his meat, And how he keeps Gloating upon a sheep's Or bullock's personals, as if his own; How he admires his halves And quarters--and his calves, As if in truth upon his own legs grown.Collection: Sheep
The cowslip is a country wench.Collection: Country
Spontaneously to God should turn the soul, Like the magnetic needle to the pole; But what were that intrinsic virtue worth, Suppose some fellow, with more zeal than knowledge, Fresh from St. Andrew's College, Should nail the conscious needle to the north?Collection: College
With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread.Collection: Inspirational
The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me.Collection: White
Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray.Collection: Ocean
Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!Collection: Yellow