Who is Thomas Hood

Thomas Hood (23 May 1799 – 3 May 1845) was an English poet, author and humorist, best known for poems such as "The Bridge of Sighs" and "The Song of the Shirt". Hood wrote regularly for The London Magazine, Athenaeum, and Punch. He later published a magazine largely consisting of his own works. Hood, never robust, lapsed into invalidism by the age of 41 and died at the age of 45. William Michael Rossetti in 1903 called him "the finest English poet" between the generations of Shelley and Tennyson. Hood was the father of playwright and humorist Tom Hood (1835–1874).

Early life
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Thomas Hood Poems

  • Playing At Soldiers
    "Who'll serve the King?"


    What little urchin is there never ...
  • A True Story
    Of all our pains, since man was curst,
    I mean of body, not the mental,
    To name the worst, among the worst,
    The dental sure is transcendental; ...
  • The University Feud.[1]
    "A plague o' both the houses!" - MERCUTIO.


    ...
  • A Report From Below!
    "Blow high, blow low." - SEA SONG.


    As Mister B. and Mistress B. ...
  • Ode To Captain Paery[1]
    "By the North Pole, I do challenge thee!"
    Love's Labour's Lost.

    ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Thomas Hood

Long 76 Face 60 Bright 56 Head 56 Thought 55 I Love You 54 Cold 54 Love 54 Good 52 Soul 52


Thomas Hood Quotes

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Comments about Thomas Hood

  • _azza___: can luke robert hemmings, calum thomas hood, ashton fletcher irwin and even michael gordon clifford get over her now ???
  • Viopmertq74: i saw old autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence. thomas hood january 21, 2021 at 11:30pm
  • Viopmertq74: i saw old autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence. thomas hood january 22, 2021 at 12:30am
  • Sweetmorphinn: calum thomas hood you really want to tweet. you really want to show us a picture of duke.
  • Yrb_andal: calum thomas hood
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Poem of the day

Ezra Pound Poem
Taking Leave Of A Friend
 by Ezra Pound

Blue mountains to the north of the walls,
White river winding about them;
Here we must make separation
And go out through a thousand miles of dead grass.

Mind like a floating wide cloud,
Sunset like the parting of old acquaintances
Who bow over their clasped hands at a distance.
...

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