O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
“No sun—no moon! No morn—no noon— No dawn— No sky—no earthly view— No distance looking blue— No road—no street—no "t'other side the… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
Tis like the birthday of the world, When earth was born in bloom; The light is made of many dyes, The air… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
And ye, who have met with Adversity's blast, And been bow'd to the earth by its fury; To whom the Twelve Months,… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
Peace and rest at length have come, All the day's long toil is past; And each heart is whispering, "Home, Home at last!" — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
I love thee - I love thee, 'Tis all that I can say, It is my vision in the night, My dreaming in the… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
There are three things which the public will always clamour for, sooner or later; namely: novelty, novelty, novelty. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
Half of the failures in life come from pulling one's horse when he is leaping. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind. What is the soul? It is immaterial. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
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,… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
It was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast! It was the time of roses, We plucked them as we passed! — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die? — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey,… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go Over those hoary crests, divinely led! Art thou that huntress of the silver bow Fabled of… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
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… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
