Thomas Hood

The year's in wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And read more

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

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.

With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
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With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread.

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

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

'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so read more

'Tis strange how like a very dunce,
Man, with his bumps upon his sconce,
Has lived so long, and yet no knowledge he
Has had, till lately, of Phrenology--
A science that by simple dint of
Head-combing he should find a hint of,
When scratching o'er those little pole-hills
The faculties throw up like mole hills.