Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

To my Infant Son THOU happy, happy elf! (But stop, first let me kiss away that tear,) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he ’s poking peas into his ear,) Thou merry, laughing sprite, With spirits, feather light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin;... Poet: Thomas Hood	The Lost Heir “O where, and O where Is my bonnie laddie gone?” —OLD SONG. ONE day, as I was going by That part of Holborn christened High, I heard a loud and sudden cry That chilled my very blood; And lo! from out a dirty alley, Where pigs... Poet: Thomas Hood	“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! ... Poet: Thomas Hood	Ruth 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. On her cheek an autumn flush Deeply ripened;—such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red... Poet: Thomas Hood
“What can an old man do but die?” SPRING it is cheery, Winter is dreary, Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly; When he ’s forsaken, Withered and shaken, What can an old man do but die? Love will not clip him, Maids will not lip him... Poet: Thomas Hood	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 She sang the “... Poet: Thomas Hood	The Bridge of Sighs “Drowned! drowned!”—Hamlet. ONE more unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care! Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Look at her garments... Poet: Thomas Hood	The Death-Bed 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. So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke... Poet: Thomas Hood
“Farewell, Life” Written During Sickness, April, 1845 FAREWELL, life! my senses swim, And the world is growing dim; Thronging shadows cloud the light, Like the advent of the night,— Colder, colder, colder still, Upward steals a vapor chill; Strong the... Poet: Thomas Hood	No! NO sun—no moon! No morn—no noon— No dawn—no dust—no proper time of day— No sky—no earthly view— No distance looking blue— No road—no street—no “t’ other side the way”— No end to any Row— No... Poet: Thomas Hood