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The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood

Hood, Thomas (1799-1845)

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WHIMS AND ODDITIES. First Series
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WHIMS AND ODDITIES. Second Series
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VERSES FROM ‘TYLNEY HALL’
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HOOD'S OWN: OR, LAUGHTER FROM YEAR TO YEAR BEING FORMER RUNNINGS OF HIS COMIC VEIN, WITH AN INFUSION OF NEW BLOOD FOR GENERAL CIRCULATION
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EPIGRAMS COMPOSED ON READING A DIARY LATELY PUBLISHED
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BAILEY BALLADS
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POEMS, BY A POOR GENTLEMAN
  
STANZAS WRITTEN UNDER THE FEAR OF BAILIFFS
  
SONNET WRITTEN IN A WORKHOUSE
  
SONNET.—A SOMNAMBULIST
  
FUGITIVE LINES ON PAWNING MY WATCH
  
THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS
  
PAIR'D, NOT MATCH'D
  
THE DUEL
  
SONNET TO VAUXHALL
  
ODE TO MR. MALTHUS
  
A GOOD DIRECTION
  
THERE'S NO ROMANCE IN THAT
  
A WATERLOO BALLAD
  
SHOOTING PAINS
  
THE BOY AT THE NORE
  
ODE TO ST. SWITHIN
  
THE SCHOOLMASTER'S MOTTO
  
THE SUPPER SUPERSTITION A PATHETIC BALLAD
  
A STORM AT HASTINGS AND THE LITTLE UNKNOWN
  
LINES TO A LADY ON HER DEPARTURE FOR INDIA
  
SONNET TO A SCOTCH GIRL, WASHING LINEN AFTER HER COUNTRY FASHION
  
SONNET TO A DECAYED SEAMAN
  
HUGGINS AND DUGGINS A PASTORAL AFTER POPE
  
DOMESTIC DIDACTICS BY AN OLD SERVANT THE BROKEN DISH
  
ODE TO PEACE WRITTEN ON THE NIGHT OF MY MISTRESS'S GRAND ROUT
  
A FEW LINES ON COMPLETING FORTY-SEVEN
  
TO MARY HOUSEMAID ON VALENTINE'S DAY
  
PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT A SEA ECLOGUE
  
LITERARY AND LITERAL
  
‘Love Lays and Lyrics
  
SONNET TO LORD WHARNCLIFFE, ON HIS GAME BILL
  
LITERARY REMINISCENCES
  
ODE TO PERRY THE INVENTOR OF THE PATENT PERRYAN PEN
  
THE UNDYING ONE
  
COCKLE v. CACKLE
  
THE SWEEP'S COMPLAINT
  
THE SUB-MARINE
  
DOG-GREL VERSES, BY A POOR BLIND
  
THE KANGAROOS A FABLE
  
ODE FOR THE NINTH OF NOVEMBER
  
SONNET
  
RONDEAU (EXTRACTED FROM A WELL-KNOWN ANNUAL)
  
SYMPTOMS OF OSSIFICATION
  
THE POACHER A SERIOUS BALLAD
  
I CANNOT BEAR A GUN
  
TRIMMER'S EXERCISE FOR THE USE OF CHILDREN
  
THE FOX AND THE HEN A FABLE
  
THE COMET AN ASTRONOMICAL ANECDOTE
  
LOVE AND LUNACY
  
THOSE EVENING BELLS
  
LINES TO A FRIEND AT COBHAM
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THE QUAKERS' CONVERSAZIONE
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WHIMSICALITIES: A PERIODICAL GATHERING

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[That flesh is grass is now as clear as day]

That flesh is grass is now as clear as day,
To any but the merest purblind pup,
Death cuts it down, and then, to make her hay,
My Lady B--- comes and rakes it up.
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