Thomas Hood
Thomas Hood
Thomas Hoodwas an English poet, author and humourist, best known for poems such as "The Bridge of Sighs" and "The Song of the Shirt". Hood wrote regularly for The London Magazine, the Athenaeum, and Punch. He later published a magazine largely consisting of his own works. Hood, never robust, lapsed into invalidism by the age of 41 and died at the age of 45. William Michael Rossetti in 1903 called him "the finest English poet" between the generations of Shelley...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth23 May 1799
men apples firsts
When Eve upon the first of Men The apple press'd with specious cant, Oh! what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adamant!
ignorance dark boys
I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky; It was a childish ignorance, But now 't is little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy.
birthday brother flower
I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs, where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburmum on his birthday,- The tree is living yet.
optimism long sun
I resolved that, like the sun, as long as my day lasted, I would look on the bright side of everything.
i-love-you valentines-day dream
I love thee - I love thee, 'Tis all that I can say, It is my vision in the night, My dreaming in the day.
christmas laughter bells
Bells are musics laughter.
autumn flying dying
The Autumn is old; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying;- Old age, begin sighing!
morning fall winter
The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!
spring flower air
Tis like the birthday of the world, When earth was born in bloom; The light is made of many dyes, The air is all perfume: There's crimson buds, and white and blue, The very rainbow showers Have turned to blossoms where they fell, And sown the earth with flowers.
spring dust wings
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.'
sympathy condolences heart
How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.
congratulations bores
The biggest bore of all is he who is overflowing with congratulations
sea silence desert
There is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be,- In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea, Or in the wide desert where no life is found.
struggle blood flesh
Oh! God! That bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap!