Thomas Hood on Autumn

Not only misery, but melancholy also loves company. For those who might like to share a bit over a misty cup of tea, here is your indulgence. But I must follow this up with John Keat’s “Ode to Autumn”, for the season would not be complete without it. Thank you, Adrienne, for sharing Mr. Hood’s reflections!

Nothing Gilded, Nothing Gained-Period Drama on Paper at Middlemay Farm

Thomas Hood 1799–1845 Thomas Hood
1799–1845

Autumn

I Saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;—
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
With tangled gossamer that fell by night,
Pearling his coronet of golden corn.

Henry Herbert La Thangue Henry Herbert La Thangue

Where are the songs of Summer?—With the sun,
Oping the dusky eyelids of the south,
Till shade and silence waken up as one,
And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth.
Where are the merry birds?—Away, away,
On panting wings through the inclement skies,
Lest owls should prey
Undazzled at noonday,
And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes.

John Atkinson Grimshaw John Atkinson Grimshaw

Where are the blooms of Summer?—In the west,
Blushing their last to the last sunny hours,
When the mild Eve by sudden Night is prest
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