Thomas Hood

(1789-1845 / London / England)

Autumn Iii - Poem by Thomas Hood

The Autumn is old,
The sere leaves are flying;—
He hath gather'd up gold,
And now he is dying;—
Old Age, begin sighing!
The vintage is ripe,
The harvest is heaping;—
But some that have sow'd
Have no riches for reaping;—
Poor wretch, fall a-weeping!
The year's in the wane,
There is nothing adorning,
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;—
Cold winter gives warning.
The rivers run chill,
The red sun is sinking,
And I am grown old,
And life is fast shrinking;
Here's enow for sad thinking!


Comments about Autumn Iii by Thomas Hood

  • (10/13/2017 5:09:00 PM)


    End of autumn
    dry leaves
    Old man with tons of gold
    now weeping, sighing, dying

    His end near, no happiness
    night with no evening
    day with no morning
    cold winter says:

    river water very cold
    red sun no more.
    I very old
    my life no more

    Sad sad my mind.
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  • (10/13/2017 7:48:00 AM)


    The rivers run chill,
    The red sun is sinking,
    And I am grown old,
    And life is fast shrinking;
    - I felt it inside..a very nice poem..!
    (Report) Reply

  • (8/18/2013 10:39:00 PM)


    you have touched my heart...Thomas I remember, I remember... (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 5, 2010



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