I don’t normally do GDRs on the weekend but because of the glorious weather, I am making an exception. One of the readings for today is the poem “Autumn” by Thomas Hood. I liked it– it made me smile.

We’ve talked about Hood before. He wrote The Song of the Shirt, remember?

It was written in honour of a Mrs. Biddell, a widow and seamstress living in wretched conditions. In what was, at that time, common practice, Mrs. Biddell sewed trousers and shirts in her home using materials given to her by her employer for which she was forced to give a £2 deposit. In a desperate attempt to feed her starving infants, Mrs. Biddell pawned the clothing she had made, thus accruing a debt she could not pay. Mrs. Biddell, whose first name has not been recorded, was sent to a workhouse, and her ultimate fate is unknown; however, her story became a catalyst for those who actively opposed the wretched conditions of England’s working poor, who often spent seven days a week labouring under inhumane conditions, barely managing to survive and with no prospect for relief.

That infallible source

Back to “Autumn.” I never purposely thought about it before, but Autumns in England are different than Autumns in Mississippi!

“Autumn” begins

I SAW old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;—
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
With tangled gossamer that fell by night,
    Pearling his coronet of golden corn.
Where are the songs of Summer?—With the sun,
Oping the dusky eyelids of the south,
Till shade and silence waken up as one,
And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth.
Where are the merry birds?—Away, away,
On panting wings through the inclement skies,
            Lest owls should prey
            Undazzled at noonday,
And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes.

Read the whole thing here.