Poem by Thomas Hood

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Far above the hollow
Tempest, and its moan,
Singeth bright Apollo
In his golden zone,--
Cloud doth never shade him,
Nor a storm invade him,
On his joyous throne.

So when I behold me
In an orb as bright,
How thy soul doth fold me
In its throne of light!
Sorrow never paineth,
Nor a care attaineth
To that blessed height.

1. The Departure of Summer
2. Stanzas (Is there a bitter pang for love removed)
3. The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
4. Ballad (She's up and gone, the graceless girl)
5. Written in Keats' “Endymion”

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