Thomas Hood, author of the following selection, was born in 1798, at
London, where he was editor of the "London Magazine," and died in 1845. He
is best known as a humorist, but some of his poems are full of tender
feeling.
The autumn is old;
The sear leaves are flying;
He hath gathered up gold
And now he is dying:
Old age, begin sighing!
The year's in the wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;
Cold winter gives warning.