The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood: With a Memoir, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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Dodd, Mead, 1867 - English poetry
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Page 155 - 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 !
Page 155 - Work work work, Till the brain begins to swim; Work work work, Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam, Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream! "Oh, Men, with Sisters dear! Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures
Page 206 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow.
Page 206 - 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 ! T remember.
Page 153 - 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 ! Oh ! it was pitiful ! Near a whole city full, Home she had none.
Page 118 - And souls untouched by sin ; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in : Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran, Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can...
Page 122 - And peace went with them one and all, And each calm pillow spread ; But guilt was my grim chamberlain That lighted me to bed, And drew my midnight curtains round, With fingers bloody red...
Page 152 - 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.
Page 123 - 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...
Page 426 - In love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents (Drat the boy ! There goes my ink !) Thou...

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