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Thomas Hood

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What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched—my eyeballs burn,
     I scent no flowery gust;
But faint the flagging Zephyr springs,
With dry Macadam on its wings,
     And turns me "dust to dust."
--
Ode Imitated from Horace (1844), st. 2.

 
Thomas Hood

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Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
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Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End!

 
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