We watch'd her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.
Thomas Hood (1798 - 1845)
Source: The Death-Bed.
Contributed by: Zaady
When he is forsaken, Wither'd and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Source: Spring it is cheery.
With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread,- Stitch! stitch! stitch!
Source: The Song of the Shirt.
A moment's thinking is an hour in words.
Straight down the crooked lane, And all round the square.
Source: A Plain Direction.
Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair!
Source: The Bridge of Sighs.
The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam; And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.
Source: All round my Hat.
Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising God with sweetest looks.
No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon, No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day, . . . . . . No road, no street, no t' other side the way, . . . . . . No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no buds.
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