To A Child Embracing His Mother.

Love thy mother, little one!
Kiss and clasp her neck again, -
Hereafter she may have a son
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain.
Love thy mother, little one!

Gaze upon her living eyes,
And mirror back her love for thee, -
Hereafter thou mayst shudder sighs
To meet them when they cannot see.
Gaze upon her living eyes!

Press her lips the while they glow
With love that they have often told, -
Hereafter thou mayst press in woe,
And kiss them till thine own are cold.
Press her lips the while they glow!

Oh, revere her raven hair!
Although it be not silver-gray;
Too early Death, led on by Care,
May snatch save one dear lock away.
Oh, revere her raven hair!

Pray for her at eve and morn,
That Heaven may long the stroke defer, -
For thou mayst live the hour forlorn
When thou wilt ask to die with her.
Pray for her at eve and morn!

Thomas Hood

Thomas Hood, born May 23, 1799, and passed away on May 3, 1845, was a British humorist and poet renowned for his comic verse and sharp satire. His most famous works include 'The Song of the Shirt' and 'The Bridge of Sighs,' which highlighted social issues and the plight of the poor. Hood's legacy is celebrated for blending humor with a deep empathy for human suffering, making his poetry both entertaining and thought-provoking.

Thomas Hood

Stanzas.[1]

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

Ode To The Great Unknown.[1]

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

Queen Mab.

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

An Open Question.

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

English

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My Mother's Kiss.

My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss,
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To My Mother.

With filial duty I address thee, Mother,
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Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps,
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The Shunamite.[A]

It was a sultry day of summer time.
The sun pour'd down upon the ripen'd grain
With quivering heat, and the suspended leaves
Hung motionless. The cattle on the hills
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To A Young Mother On The Birth Of Her First-Born Child.

Young mother! proudly throbs thine heart, and well may it rejoice,
Well may'st thou raise to Heaven above in grateful prayer thy voice:
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What store of deep and holy joy is opened to thy thought -
Glad, sunny dreams of future days, with bliss and rapture fraught;
Of hopes as varied, yet as bright, as beams of April sun,
And plans and wishes centred all within thy darling one!

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In fashion's halls to win a joy as dazzling as 'tis vain -
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What joy for thee to ling'...

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To My Mother

No foreign tribute from a stranger-hand,
Mother, I bring thee, whom not Heaven's songs
Would as an alien reach.... Ah, but how far
From Heaven's least heavenly is the changing note
And changing fancy of these fitful cries!
Mother, forgive them, as the best of me
Has ever pleaded only for thy pardon,
Not for thy praise.
Mother, there is a love
Men give to wives and children, lovers, friends;
There is a love which some men give to God.
Ah! between this, I think, and that last love,
Last and too-late-discovered love of God,
There shines--and nearer to the love of God--
The love a man gives only to his mother,
Whose travail of dear thought has never end
Until the End. Oh that my mouth had words
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John Frederick Freeman