The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood: With a Memoir, Volume 1

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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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