Thursday, 12 November 2009



by Thomas Hood (1799 - 1845)

No sun, no moon!
No morn, no noon!
No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day,
No sky, no earthly view,
No distance looking blue,

No road, no street,
No "t'other side the way",
No end to any Row,
No indications where the Crescents go,

No top to any steeple,
No recognitions of familiar people,
No courtesies for showing 'em,
No knowing 'em!

No mail, no post,
No news from any foreign coast,
No park, no ring, no afternoon gentility,
No company, no nobility,

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member,
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,

This poem was written when London, in particular, was subject to the most terrible fogs, and November was the worst month for them.   It is a little unfair on November these days, and here is photograph of what we expect and enjoy in November now.

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