Another tumble! That 's his precious nose!
Thomas Hood (1798 - 1845)
Source: Parental Ode to my Infant Son.
Contributed by: Zaady
Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.
Source: The Season.
Even God's providence Seeming estrang'd.
Source: The Bridge of Sighs.
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Source: Morning Meditations.
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.
Source: Her Dream.
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.
Source: Her Moral.
But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart!
Source: The Lady's Dream
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold.
There 's not a string attuned to mirth But has its chord in melancholy.
Source: Ode to Melancholy.
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!
Source: A Reflection
Copyright © 2014 Gaiam, Inc.