Thomas Hood

Lear

    Sonnet

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!