The Works of Thomas Hood...: Complete poetical works

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Derby and Jackson, 1861
 

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Page 149 - 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 143 - Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; 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 149 - 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 She sang the "Song of the Shirt.
Page 178 - 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 ! I remember, I remember...
Page 179 - I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups — Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday, — The tree is living yet!
Page 146 - Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently, kindly, Smooth and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly. Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity.
Page 148 - Work, work, work, In the dull December light, And work, work, work, When the weather Is warm and bright, While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs, And twit me with the spring.
Page 391 - BEN BATTLE was a soldier bold, And used to war's alarms; But a cannon-ball took off his legs, So he laid down his arms! Now as they bore him off the field, Said he, 'Let others shoot, For here I leave my second leg, And the Forty-second Foot!
Page 106 - The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain, Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again; And down he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain; And, long since then, of bloody men, Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves...
Page 306 - Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Molten, graven, hammered and rolled : Heavy to get, and light to hold ; Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold, Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled : Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old To the very verge of the church-yard mould ; Price of many a crime untold : Gold!

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