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 indication where the Crescents go.
No top to any steeple
No recognitions of familiar people
No courtesies for showing them
No knowing them!
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)
This poem gives us an excellent image of what fog-shrouded London looked like in the 1800's.
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