James Henry Leigh Hunt: Все стихи поэта

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'Tis well you think me truly one of those,

Whose sense discerns the loveliness of things;

For surely as I feel the bird that sings

Behind the leaves, or dawn as it up grows,

Or the rich bee rejoicing as he goes,

Or the glad issue of emerging springs,

Or overhead the glide of a dove's wings,

Or turf, or trees, or, midst of all, repose.

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 that health and wealth have miss'd me,

Say I'm growing old, but add,

Jenny kiss'd me.

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,

One day there fell in great Benares' temple-court

A wondrous plate of gold, whereon these words were writ;

"To him who loveth best, a gift from Heaven."

Thereat.

The priests made proclamation: "At the midday hour,

Each day, let those assemble who for virtue deem

their right to Heaven's gift the best; and we will hear

the deeds of mercy done, and so adjudge."