To a False Friend

Our hands have met, but not our hearts;
Our hands will never meet again.
Friends, if we have ever been,
Friends we cannot now remain:
I only know I lov'd you once,
I only know I lov'd in vain;
Our hands have met, but not our hearts;
Our hands will never meet again!

Then farewell to heart and hand!
I would our hands had never met:
Even the outward form of love
Must be resign'd with some regret.
Friends we still might seem to be,
If my wrong could e'er forget
Our hands have join'd but not our hearts:
I would our hands had never met!

Thomas Hood . 1798-1844

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Poetry of Hood

Thomas Hood
born 1798, died 1844

Poems

The Wee Man
The Exile
The Lay of the Labourer
The Song of the Shirt
Gold
The Bridge of Sighs
The Death-Bed
I Remember, I Remember!
I Love Thee!
To An Absentee
To -
The Forsaken
Ruth
To My Daughter
To A Child
A Parental Ode To My Son, Aged Three Years And Five Months
To A False Friend
Flowers
The Lee-Shore

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Thomas Hood

To a False Friend - Thomas Hood - poetry, poems

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