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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. Written in Keats' Endymion
  2. The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
  3. Song (The stars are with the voyager)
  4. Ode on a Distant Prospect of Clapham Academy
  5. Ballad (She's up and gone, the graceless girl)

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