The Complete Poetical Works of Thomas Hood

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H. Frowde, 1906 - English poetry - 773 pages

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Page 623 - Oh ! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet ; With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet; For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal...
Page 530 - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds...
Page 344 - Those joyous hours are past away ; And many a heart, that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. And so 'twill be when I am gone ; That tuneful peal will still ring on, While...
Page 648 - Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river; Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery Swift to be hurled— Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world...
Page 308 - He has no children. All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam At one fell swoop?
Page 623 - O men, with sisters dear ! O men, with mothers and wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch— stitch— stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt.
Page 648 - Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other...
Page 623 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread — Stitch — stitch — stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, — Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! She sang this " Song of the Shirt !
Page 629 - For over all there hung a cloud of fear, A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted I PART II.
Page 531 - No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bosom of his father and his God.

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