The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, by Thomas Hood


She’s up and gone, the graceless girl,

And robb’d my failing years!

My blood before was thin and cold

But now ’tis turn’d to tears; —

My shadow falls upon my grave,

So near the brink I stand,

She might have stay’d a little yet,

And led me by the hand!

Aye, call her on the barren moor,

And call her on the hill:

’Tis nothing but the heron’s cry,

And plover’s answer shrill;

My child is flown on wilder wings

Than they have ever spread,

And I may even walk a waste

That widen’d when she fled.

Full many a thankless child has been,

But never one like mine;

Her meat was served on plates of gold,

Her drink was rosy wine;

But now she’ll share the robin’s food,

And sup the common rill,

Before her feet will turn again

To meet her father’s will!

Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:55