The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, by Thomas Hood


A poor old king, with sorrow for my crown,

Throned upon straw, and mantled with the wind —

For pity, my own tears have made me blind

That I might never see my children’s frown;

And, may be, madness, like a friend, has thrown

A folded fillet over my dark mind,

So that unkindly speech may sound for kind —

Albeit I know not. — I am childish grown —

And have not gold to purchase wit withal —

I that have once maintain’d most royal state —

A very bankrupt now that may not call

My child, my child — all beggar’d save in tears,

Wherewith I daily weep an old man’s fate,

Foolish — and blind — and overcome with years!

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