Thomas Hood - LearThomas Hood - Lear
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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!
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