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