“Is that my teasmade?”

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 traveling at all—no locomotion—
No inkling of the way—no notion—
“No go”—by land or ocean—
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—
November!

Thomas Hood (1799-1845)

3 thoughts on ““Is that my teasmade?”

  1. I confess, I knew the poem as an Art of Noise piece long before I knew it was an example of early 19th-century light verse.

    That said, I do aspire to be the Jean-Michel Basquiat of YouTube linkage.

    Like

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