Poem by Thomas Hood

Autumn (The Autumn skies are flushed with gold)

The Autumn skies are flushed with gold,
Add fair and bright the rivers run;
These are but streams of winter cold,
And painted mists that quench the sun.

In secret boughs no sweet birds sing,
In secret boughs no bird can shroud;
These are but leaves that take to wing,
And wintry winds that pipe so loud.

’Tis not trees’ shade, but cloudy glooms
That on the cheerless valleys fall,
The flowers are in their grassy tombs,
And tears of dew are on them all.

1. Song (The stars are with the voyager)
2. The Departure of Summer
3. Ode on a Distant Prospect of Clapham Academy
4. The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
5. The Boy at the Nore

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