Sweet are the little brooks that run O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, Singing in soothing tones. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
I remember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
Father of rosy day, No more thy clouds of incense rise; But waking flow'rs, At morning hours, Give out their sweets to… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a… — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
I resolved that, like the sun, as long as my day lasted, I would look on the bright side of everything. — Thomas Hood Copy Share Image
No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon, No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day, . . . . .… — 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
