The Works of Thomas Hood

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Page 359 - There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; And do a wilful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; As who should say, ' I am Sir Oracle, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
Page 477 - ENDYMION." I SAW pale Dian, sitting by the brink Of silver falls, the overflow of fountains From cloudy steeps ; and I grew sad to think Endymion's foot was silent on those mountains And he but a hush'd name, that Silence keeps In dear remembrance, — lonely, and forlorn, Singing it to herself until she weeps Tears, that perchance still glisten in the morn :And as I mused, in dull imaginings, There came a flash of garments, and I knew The awful Muse by her harmonious wings Charming the air to music...
Page 194 - SOME sigh for this and that ;. My wishes don't go far ; The world may wag at will, So I have my cigar.
Page 398 - Twas paper'd o'er with studious themes, The tasks I wrote — my present dreams Will never soar so high ! My joys are wingless all and dead ; My dumps are made of more than lead ; My flights soon find a fall ; My fears prevail, my fancies droop, Joy never cometh with a hoop...
Page 161 - Skinner ! I have not seen you such an age — (The wretch has come to dinner !) " Your daughters, too, what loves of girls — What heads for painters...
Page 162 - What! must you go? next time I hope You'll give me longer measure; Nay — I shall see you down the stairs — (With most uncommon pleasure!) "Good-bye ! good-bye ! remember all, Next time you'll take your dinners ! (Now, David, mind I'm not at home In future to the Skinners...
Page 191 - heavens bless the accident by which I came to see you! I would have walked many a mile to have communed with you; and, believe me, I will shortly pay you a second visit. But my friends, I fancy, by this time, wonder at my stay ; so let me have the money immediately.
Page 448 - By lawful turn, my living to earn, Between the light and dark; My daily bread, and nightly bed, My bacon, and drop of beer — But all from the hand that holds the land, And none from the overseer!
Page 436 - TO MINERVA. From the Greek. MY temples throb, my pulses boil, I'm sick of Song, and Ode, and Ballad — So Thyrsis, take the midnight oil, And pour it on a lobster salad. My brain is dull, my sight is foul, I cannot write a verse, or read, — Then Pallas take away thine Owl, And let us have a Lark instead.
Page 397 - The meeting sweet that made me thrill, The sweetmeats almost sweeter still, No ' satis ' to the 'jams !' — When that I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, My mates were blithe and kind ! No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from my eye, To cast a look behind ! FAIR INES.

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