Thomas Hood

Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold.

Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold.

A cup concealed in the dress is rarely honestly carried.

A cup concealed in the dress is rarely honestly carried.

The moon, the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shade--now read more

The moon, the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shade--now bright and sunny--
But of all the lunar things that change,
The one that shows most fickle and strange,
And takes the most eccentric range,
Is the moon--so called--of honey!

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.

And soon
Their hushing dances languished to a stand,
Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon,
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And soon
Their hushing dances languished to a stand,
Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon,
All on their drooping stems they sink unfanned.