Thomas Hood

But who would rush at a benighted man, and give him two black eyes for being blind?.

But who would rush at a benighted man, and give him two black eyes for being blind?.

Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

The year's in wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
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The year's in wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;
Cold winter gives warning!

Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
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Father of rosy day,
No more thy clouds of incense rise;
But waking flow'rs,
At morning hours,
Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.

It's very hard! Oh, Dick, my boy,
It's very hard one can't enjoy
A little private spouting;
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It's very hard! Oh, Dick, my boy,
It's very hard one can't enjoy
A little private spouting;
But sure as Lear or Hamlet lives,
Up comes our master, Bounce! and gives
The tragic Muse a routing.