Thomas Hood

(1789-1845 / London / England)

Comments about Thomas Hood

  • ruspinufyi (9/24/2019 3:23:00 PM)

    My last month paycheck was for 11000 dollars… All i did was simple online work from comfort at home for 3-4 hours/day that I got from this agency I discovered over the internet and they paid me for it 95 bucks every hour....
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  • Discovered far far too late in my life! ! ! (5/21/2019 2:52:00 AM)

    I never knew such a vast talent existed, he writes as though it were yesterday! Fantastic, Amazing Wonderful! ! !

    0 person liked.
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  • abinayavarshini.v 4e (4/23/2019 7:18:00 AM)

    I hate it, i hate it

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Collette Anne Kearns Collette Anne Kearns (10/7/2015 10:49:00 AM)

    My Mother loved this poem. the last few lines made her sad though. She would often comment that the speaker should have been closer to Heaven the older he became.

    7 person liked.
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  • Dan Reynolds Dan Reynolds (9/23/2014 7:32:00 AM)

    You show some promise, but the archaic language lets you down. Try to read some good contemporary poets and expand your thoughts without the restriction of form.

    4 person liked.
    12 person did not like.
  • David Solomon (10/4/2009 3:26:00 PM)

    what a meaningful poem that taught me the meaning of sacrifice, the woman decided to make a song of her pains to make the rich happy although the song will never reach the rich

    20 person liked.
    11 person did not like.
Best Poem of Thomas Hood

I Remember, I Remember

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
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!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to ...

Read the full of I Remember, I Remember

The Song Of The Shirt

The Song of the Shirt

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

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