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Poems By Poet Thomas Hood  7/11/2014 8:39:10 AM
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Thomas Hood   Best Poems From
  THOMAS HOOD (1789-1845)
 
 
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  17.     

Flowers

I will not have the mad Clytie,
Whose head is turned by the sun;
The tulip is a courtly queen,
Whom, therefore, I will shun;
The cowslip is a country wench,
The violet is a nun; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
The queen of everyone.

The pea is but a wanton witch,
In too much haste to wed,
And clasps her rings on every hand
The wolfsbane I should dread; -
Nor will I dreary rosemary
That always mourns the dead; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
With her cheeks of tender red.

The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me -
And the daisy's cheek is tipped with blush,
She is of such low degree;
Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves,
And the broom's betrothed to the bee; -
But I will plight with the dainty rose,
For fairest of all is she.
 
Thomas Hood

Read more: rose poems, red poems, sun poems, wedding poems, flower poems
   
 

   
   
 

  18.     

It Was Not In The Winter

It was not in the Winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the Time of Roses,—
We plucked them as we passed!
That churlish season never frown'd
On early lovers yet:—
Oh, no—the world was newly crown'd
With flowers when first we met!
'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;
It was the Time of Roses,—
We pluck'd them as we pass'd.—
What else could peer thy glowing cheek,
That tears began to stud?
And when I ask'd the like of Love,
You snatched a damask bud;
And oped it to the dainty core,
Still glowing to the last.—
It was the Time of Roses,—
We plucked them as we pass'd!
 
Thomas Hood
   
 

   
   
 

  19.     

Lear

A poor old king, with sorrow for my crown,
Throned upon straw, and mantled with the wind—
For pity, my own tears have made me blind
That I might never see my children's frown;
And, may be, madness, like a friend, has thrown
A folded fillet over my dark mind,
So that unkindly speech may sound for kind—
Albeit I know not.—I am childish grown—
And have not gold to purchase wit withal—
I that have once maintain'd most royal state—
A very bankrupt now that may not call
My child, my child—all beggar'd save in tears,
Wherewith I daily weep an old man's fate,
Foolish—and blind—and overcome with years!
 
Thomas Hood
   
 

   
   
 

  20.     

Ruth

Ruth


She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasp’d by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.


On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripen’d;—such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.


Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell,
But long lashes veil’d a light,
That had else been all too bright.


And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks:—


Sure, I said, Heav’n did not mean,
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.
 
Thomas Hood

Read more: autumn poems, kiss poems, red poems, light poems, home poems, sun poems, god poems
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Thomas Hood