James Henry Leigh Hunt
Song of Fairies Robbing an Orchard
We, the Fairies, blithe and antic, Of dimensions not gigantic, Though the moonshine mostly keep us, Oft in orchards frisk and peep us. Stolen sweets are always sweeter, Stolen kisses much completer, Stolen looks
An Angel in the House
How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, An angel came to us, and we could bear To see him issue from the silent air At evening
The Nile
It flows through old hushed Egypt and its sands, Like some grave mighty thought threading a dream, And times and things, as in that vision, seem Keeping along it their eternal stands, Caves, pillars,
Jenny Kissed Me
Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in! Say I’m weary, say I’m sad, Say
On Receiving a Crown of Ivy from John Keats
It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind, Thus to be topped with leaves; to have a sense Of honour-shaded thought, an influence As from great nature’s fingers, and be twined With her old,
To Robert Batty, M. D., on His Giving Me a Lock of Milton's Hair
It lies before me there, and my own breath Stirs its thin outer threads, as though beside The living head I stood in honoured pride, Talking of lovely things that conquer death. Perhaps he
Robin Hood, An Outlaw
Robin Hood is an outlaw bold Under the greenwood tree; Bird, nor stag, nor morning air Is more at large than he. They sent against him twenty men, Who joined him laughing-eyed; They sent
A Thought or Two on Reading Pomfret's
I have been reading Pomfret’s “Choice” this spring, A pretty kind of sort of kind of thing, Not much a verse, and poem none at all, Yet, as they say, extremely natural. And yet
Abou Ben Adhem
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An
To a Fish
You strange, astonished-looking, angle-faced, Dreary-mouthed, gaping wretches of the sea, Gulping salt-water everlastingly, Cold-blooded, though with red your blood be graced, And mute, though dwellers in the roaring waste; And you, all shapes beside,
Robin Hood, A Child
It was the pleasant season yet, When the stones at cottage doors Dry quickly, while the roads are wet, After the silver showers. The green leaves they looked greener still, And the thrush, renewing
Sudden Fine Weather
Reader! what soul that laoves a verse can see The spring return, nor glow like you and me? Hear the quick birds, and see the landscape fill, Nor long to utter his melodious will?
The Negro Boy
Paupertas onus visa est grave. Cold blows the wind, and while the tear Bursts trembling from my swollen eyes, The rain’s big drop, quick meets it there, And on my naked bosom flies! O
Jenny kiss'd Me
Jenny kiss’d me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in! Say I’m weary, say I’m sad, Say
How Robin and His Outlaws Lived in The Woods
Robin and his merry men : Lived just like the birds; They had almost as many tracks as thoughts, : And whistles and songs as words. Up they were with the earliest sign Of
A Night-Rain in Summer
Open the window, and let the air Freshly blow upon face and hair, And fill the room, as it fills the night, With the breath of the rain’s sweet might. Hark! the burthen, swift
May and the Poets
There is May in books forever; May will part from Spenser never; May’s in Milton, May’s in Prior, May’s in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer; May’s in all the Italian books: She has old and modern
The Glove and The Lions
King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court; The nobles filled the benches, and the ladies in their pride,
To the Grasshopper and the Cricket
Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, Sole voice that’s heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the summoning brass; And
Robin Hood's Flight
Robin Hood’s mother, these twelve years now, Has been gone from her earthly home; And Robin has paid, he scarce knew how, A sum for a noble tomb. The church-yard lies on a woody
A Fish Answers
Amazing monster! that, for aught I know, With the first sight of thee didst make our race For ever stare! O flat and shocking face, Grimly divided from the breast below! Thou that on
Death
Death is a road our dearest friends have gone; Why with such leaders, fear to say, “Lead on?” Its gate repels, lest it too soon be tried, But turns in balm on the immortal