• Archives

  • Topics

  • Meta

  • Coming Home
  • Quest To the North
  • Via Serica
  • Tales of the Minivandians
  • Join the NRA

    Join the NRA!

A Year of Poetry – Day 321

The sun was slumbering in the West,
My daily labors past;
On Anna’s soft and gentle breast
My head reclined at last;
The darkness closed around, so dear
To fond congenial souls,
And thus she murmur’d at my ear,
“My love, we’re out of coals!

“That Mister Bond has call’d again,
Insisting on his rent;
And all the Todds are coming up
To see us, out of Kent —
I quite forgot to tell you John
Has had a tipsy fall —
I’m sure there’s something going on
WIth that vile Mary Hall!

“Miss Bell has bought the sweetest silk,
And I have bought the rest —
Of course, if we go out of town,
Southend will be the best.
I really think the Jones’s house
Would be the thing for us;
I think I told you Mrs. Pope
Had parted with her hus —

“Cook , by the way, came up today,
To bid me suit myself —
And what d’ye think? The rats have gnaw’d
The victuals on the shelf,
And, lord! there’s such a letter come,
Inviting you to fight!
Of course you don’t intend to go —
God bless you, dear, good night!”

— Thomas Hood, The Sun Was Slumbering In The West

Next Post
Comments are closed.
%d bloggers like this: