James Henry Leigh Hunt

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

James Henry Leigh Hunt Poems

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

[Hata Bildir]