Thomas Hood 1799-1845 John Bartlett


1
There 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 the wide desert where no life is found.
Sonnet. Silence.
2
We watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.
The Death-Bed.
3
Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.
The Death-Bed.
4
I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn: It never came a minute too soon Nor brought too long a day.
I remember, I remember.
5
I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky; It was a childish ignorance, But now ’t is little joy To know I ’m farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy.
I remember, I remember.
6
She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.
Ruth.
7
Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising God with sweetest looks.
Ruth.
8
When he is forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die?
Spring it is cheery.
9
And there is even a happiness That makes the heart afraid.
Ode to Melancholy.
10
There’s not a string attuned to mirth But has its chord in melancholy. 1
Ode to Melancholy.



11
But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart.
The Lady’s Dream.
12
Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
A Table of Errata.
13
Straight down the crooked lane, And all round the square.
A plain Direction.
14
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Morning Meditations.
15
A man that’s fond precociously of stirring Must be a spoon.
Morning Meditations.
16
Seem’d washing his hands with invisible soap In imperceptible water.
Miss Kilmansegg. Her Christening.
17
O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head!
Her Dream.
18
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.
Her Dream.
19
There’s a double beauty whenever a swan Swims on a lake with her double thereon. 2
Her Honeymoon.
20
Home-made dishes that drive one from home.
Her Honeymoon.
21
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold.
Her Moral.
22
Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould.
Her Moral.
23
How widely its agencies vary,— To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless,— As even its minted coins express, Now stamped with the image of Good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary.
Her Moral.
24
Another tumble! That’s his precious nose!
Parental Ode to my infant Son.
25
Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.
The Season.
26
With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread,— Stitch! stitch! stitch!
The Son of the Shirt.
27
O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you’re wearing out, But human creatures’ lives! 3
The Son of the Shirt.
28
Sewing at once a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt.
The Son of the Shirt.
29
O God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap!
The Son of the Shirt.
30
No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
The Son of the Shirt.
31
My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread.
The Son of the Shirt.
32
A wife who preaches in her gown, And lectures in her night-dress.
The Surplice Question.
33
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
Ode. Autumn.
34
Peace and rest at length have come All the day’s long toil is past, And each heart is whispering, “Home, Home at last.”
Home at last.
35
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.
Faithless Nellie Gray.
36
Pity it is to slay the meanest thing.
Plea of the Midsummer Fairies.
37
One more unfortunate Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death.
The Bridge of Sighs.
38
Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair!
The Bridge of Sighs.
39
Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!
The Bridge of Sighs.
40
Even God’s providence Seeming estranged.
The Bridge of Sighs.
41
No sun—no moon—no morn—no noon, No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day, No warmth—no cheerfulness—no healthful ease, No road, no street, no t’ other side the way, No comfortable feel in any member— No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!
November.
42
No solemn sanctimonious face I pull, Nor think I’m pious when I’m only bilious; Nor study in my sanctum supercilious, To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull.
Ode to Rae Wilson.
43
Each cloud-capt mountain is a holy altar; An organ breathes in every grove; And the full heart ’s a Psalter, Rich in deep hymn of gratitude and love.
Ode to Rae Wilson.
44
His death, which happened in his berth, At forty-odd befell: They went and told the sexton, and The sexton tolled the bell.
Faithless Sally Brown.
45
That fierce thing They call a conscience.
Lamia. Scene vii.

Note 1.
See Burton, page 185. [back]

Note 2.
See Wordsworth, page 474: The swan on still St. Mary’s lake
Float double, swan and shadow! [back]

Note 3.
See Scott, page 493. [back]

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