Poems of Thomas HoodH. Milford, Oxford University Press, 1923 - 516 páginas |
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Página 10
... turn'd fragrance in his breath , Kiss'd by sad Zephyr , guilty of his death . ' The widow'd primrose weeping to the moon , And saffron crocus in whose chalice bright A cool libation hoarded for the noon Is kept and she that purifies the ...
... turn'd fragrance in his breath , Kiss'd by sad Zephyr , guilty of his death . ' The widow'd primrose weeping to the moon , And saffron crocus in whose chalice bright A cool libation hoarded for the noon Is kept and she that purifies the ...
Página 14
... Turning their solemn looks to half a smile- Like a straight stick shown crooked in the tide ; - But soon a novel advocate I spied . Quoth he - ' We teach all natures to fulfil Their fore - appointed crafts , and instincts meet , - The ...
... Turning their solemn looks to half a smile- Like a straight stick shown crooked in the tide ; - But soon a novel advocate I spied . Quoth he - ' We teach all natures to fulfil Their fore - appointed crafts , and instincts meet , - The ...
Página 16
... turn The thread - worn rivulet , that all forsook The Naiad - lily , pining for her brook . C Wherefore , by thy delight in cool green meads , With living sapphires daintily inlaid , - - In all soft songs of waters and their reeds ...
... turn The thread - worn rivulet , that all forsook The Naiad - lily , pining for her brook . C Wherefore , by thy delight in cool green meads , With living sapphires daintily inlaid , - - In all soft songs of waters and their reeds ...
Página 23
... sage's solemn cud , But own ourselves a pinch of lively dust To frisk upon a wind , -whereas the flood Of tears would turn us into heavy mud . ' Beshrew those sad interpreters of nature , Who gloze PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES 23.
... sage's solemn cud , But own ourselves a pinch of lively dust To frisk upon a wind , -whereas the flood Of tears would turn us into heavy mud . ' Beshrew those sad interpreters of nature , Who gloze PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES 23.
Página 24
... Turning her buds to rosemary and rue ; And all their merry minstrelsy did drown , And laid each lusty leaper in the dew ; - So thou shalt fare - and every jovial crew ! ' Here he lets go the struggling imp , to clutch 24 PLEA OF THE ...
... Turning her buds to rosemary and rue ; And all their merry minstrelsy did drown , And laid each lusty leaper in the dew ; - So thou shalt fare - and every jovial crew ! ' Here he lets go the struggling imp , to clutch 24 PLEA OF THE ...
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Términos y frases comunes
beneath birds blood blue bone breath Brentford bright brow call'd cheek clouds cold cried Dame dark dead deaf dear Death Death's Head Moth door dream earth eyes face fair fancy fear gentle gloom gold Golden Leg grave green grief hand hath head hear heart Helen of Greece HOOD horrid horse Huggins hung Jack John Huggins Lady light living look look'd Lord lullaby Miss Kilmansegg morning Nelly Gray never night o'er Old Bailey once Otto of Roses Peter Stone poor raining music rose round Sally Brown seem'd shadows shine sigh sing sleep song sorrow soul sound spirit stood sweet tears thee There's thing Thomas Hood thou thought thro thrush tongue took tree turn'd Twas wave Whilst William dear wings wretch zounds
Pasajes populares
Página 168 - Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home? 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? Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! O, it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none.
Página 83 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER I REMEMBER, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember, The roses, red and white, The vi'lets, and the lily-cups.
Página 154 - 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.
Página 146 - O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear ; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is Haunted!
Página 153 - 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 !
Página 106 - All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint, That rack'd me all the time ; A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime ! " One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave ; Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave, — Still urging me to go and see The dead man in his grave...
Página 160 - The human sorrow and smart ! And yet it never was in my soul To play so ill a part : But evil is wrought by want of Thought, As well as want of Heart...
Página 104 - ... Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone, One hurried gash with a hasty knife, — And then the deed was done : There was nothing lying at my foot But lifeless flesh and bone!
Página 167 - One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; — Fashion' d so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements ; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing ; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. — Touch her not scornfully ; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly ; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now, is pure womanly.
Página 107 - Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep: Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep.