Quotes by Thomas Hood

“To-morrow is Saint Valentines day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine.”

I saw old Autumn in the misty mornStand shadowless like silence, listeningTo silence, for no lonely bird would singInto his hollow ear from woods forlorn,Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn; --Shaking his languid locks all dewy brightWith tangled gossamer that fell by night,Pearling his coronet of golden corn.

Peace and rest at length have comeAll the days long toil is past,And each heart is whispering, Home,Home at last.

No sun—no moon! No morn—no noon—No dawn— No sky—no earthly view— No distance looking blue—No road—no street—no tother side the way— No end to any Row— No indications where the Crescents go— No top to any steeple—No recognitions of familiar people— No courtesies for showing em— No knowing em!No traveling at all—no locomotion,No inkling of the way—no notion— No go—by land or ocean— No mail—no post— No news from any foreign coast—No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility— No company—no nobility—No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member—No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!

SilenceTHERE is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be, In the cold grave—under the deep, deep sea, Or in wide desert where no life is found, Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound; No voice is hushd—no life treads silently, But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free, That never spoke, over the idle ground: But in green ruins, in the desolate walls Of antique palaces, where Man hath been, Though the dun fox or wild hyæna calls, And owls, that flit continually between, Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan— There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.

When Eve upon the first of MenThe apple press’d with specious cant,Oh! what a thousand pities thenThat Adam was not adamant!

When Eve upon the first of men The apple pressed with specious cant Oh! what a thousand pities then That Adam was not adamant.

The years in the wane There is nothing adoring The night has no eve And the day has no morning Cold winter gives warning!

Oh God! that bread should be so dear And flesh and blood so cheap!

There are three things which the public will always clamor for sooner or later: namely novelty novelty novelty.

It is not linen youre wearing out But human creatures lives.

O bed! O bed! Delicious bed! That heaven on earth to the weary head!

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow hard and cold

Peace and rest at length have come All the days long toil is past And each heart is whispering Home Home at last!

English 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!

No shade no shine no butterflies no bees No fruits no flowers no leaves no birds November!

O God! that bread should be so dear And flesh and blood so cheap!

Oh! would I were dead now Or up in my bed now To cover my head now And have a good cry!

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence.

Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!