James Henry Leigh Hunt

(19 October 1784 – 28 August 1859 / Southgate, London)

James Henry Leigh Hunt Poems

1. Walcheren Expedition 4/16/2010
2. To A Child During Sickness 1/6/2015
3. To Robert Batty, M.D., On His Giving Me A Lock Of Milton's Hair 12/31/2002
4. To John Keats 4/16/2010
5. The Olive Of Peace 4/16/2010
6. The Plate Of Gold 4/16/2010
7. To The Grasshopper And The Cricket 12/31/2002
8. Ariadne Waking 5/8/2012
9. To A Fish 12/31/2002
10. The Field Of Battle 4/16/2010
11. On The Same (On Receiving A Crown Of Ivy From Keats) 4/16/2010
12. Bacchus And Ariadne 5/6/2011
13. Bellman's Verses For 1814 4/16/2010
14. The Nile 12/31/2002
15. A Thought Or Two On Reading Pomfret's 1/3/2003
16. Sudden Fine Weather 12/31/2002
17. Robin Hood's Flight 12/31/2002
18. The Negro Boy 12/31/2002
19. A Fish Answers 12/31/2002
20. Song Of Fairies Robbing An Orchard 12/31/2002
21. How Robin And His Outlaws Lived In The Woods 12/31/2002
22. The Glove And The Lions 12/31/2002
23. A Thought Of The Nile 12/31/2002
24. Robin Hood, An Outlaw. 12/31/2002
25. On Receiving A Crown Of Ivy From John Keats 12/31/2002
26. Rondeau 12/31/2002
27. May And The Poets 1/3/2003
28. Robin Hood, A Child. 12/31/2002
29. Death 1/3/2003
30. An Angel In The House 1/3/2003
31. A Night-Rain In Summer 1/3/2003
32. Jenny Kissed Me 1/13/2003
33. Abou Ben Adhem 1/13/2003
Best Poem of James Henry Leigh Hunt

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 angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still, and said "I pray ...

Read the full of Abou Ben Adhem

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 his tune,
Shook a loud note from his gladsome bill
Into the bright blue noon.

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