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Poem 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 maintaind most royal state  
A very bankrupt now that may not call 

My child, my child  all beggard save in tears, 
Wherewith I daily weep an old mans fate, 
Foolish  and blind  and overcome with years!

Thomas Hood

Thomas Hood's other poems:
  1. The Boy at the Nore
  2. Stanzas (Is there a bitter pang for love removed)
  3. Written in Keats' Endymion
  4. Sonnet for the 14th of February
  5. The Two Peacocks of Bedfont

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