Thomas Hood


THERE is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
    In the cold grave—under the deep, deep sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;
    No voice is hush'd—no life treads silently,
    But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free,
That never spoke, over the idle ground:
But in green ruins, in the desolate walls
    Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,
Though the dun fox or wild hyaena calls,
    And owls, that flit continually between,
Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan—
There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.

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About the poet

Thomas HoodThomas Hood

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Time of Roses
Related books
Thomas Hood at amazon.co.uk