James Henry Leigh Hunt

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,

Open the window, and let the air Freshly blow upon face and hair, And fill the room, as it fills the night,

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

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,

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight of his room,

How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, An angel came to us, and we could bear

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,

Translation of a Latin poem by Thomas Randolph We the fairies blithe and antic Of dimensions not gigantic,

Robin and his merry men : Lived just like the birds; They had almost as many tracks as thoughts,

Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get

There is May in books forever; May will part from Spenser never; May's in Milton, May's in Prior,

Suggested By Part Of The Italian Song, Beginning "Se Moneca Ti Fai." I If you become a nun, dear,

It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind, Thus to be topped with leaves;--to have a sense Of honour-shaded thought,--an influence

Robin Hood's mother, these twelve years now, Has been gone from her earthly home; And Robin has paid, he scarce knew how,

It was the pleasant season yet, When the stones at cottage doors Dry quickly, while the roads are wet,

Robin Hood is an outlaw bold Under the greenwood tree; Bird, nor stag, nor morning air

Jenny kiss'd me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get

We, the Fairies, blithe and antic, Of dimensions not gigantic, Though the moonshine mostly keep us,

Reader! what soul that loaves a verse can see The spring return, nor glow like you and me? Hear the quick birds, and see the landscape fill,

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,

Paupertas onus visa est grave. Cold blows the wind, and while the tear Bursts trembling from my swollen eyes,

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

You strange, astonished-looking, angle-faced, Dreary-mouthed, gaping wretches of the sea, Gulping salt-water everlastingly,

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,

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,