She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.
Thomas HoodOur very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.
Thomas HoodThere is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be,- In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea, Or in the wide desert where no life is found.
Thomas Hood