Lear

By Thomas Hood

A Poor old king, with sorrow for my crown,
Throned upon straw, and mantled with the wind --
For pity, my own tears have made me blind,
That I might never see my children's frown;
And may be madness, like a friend, has thrown
A folded fillet over my dark mind,
So that unkindly speech may sound for kind, --
Albeit I know not. -- I am childish grown --
And have not gold to purchase wit withal --
I that have once maintained most royal state --
A very bankrupt now, that may not call
My child, my child -- all-beggared save in tears,
Wherewith I daily weep an old man's fate,
Foolish -- and blind -- and overcome with years!