Stolen Sweats Are Always Sweeter

leigh-hunt

Leigh Hunt (1784 – 1857)

Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen be your apples.

Leigh Hunt

To My Friend, the Indicator

by Charles Lamb

Your easy Essays indicate a flow,
Dear friend, of brain which we may elsewhere seek;
And to their pages I and hundreds owe,
That Wednesday is the sweetest of the week.
Such observation, wit and sense are shown,
We think the days of Bickerstaff return’d;
And that a portion of that oil you own,
In his undying midnight lamp which burn’d.
I would not lightly bruise old Priscian’s head
Or wrong the rules of grammar understood;
But, with the leave of Priscian be it said,
The Indicative is your Potential Mood.
Wit, poet, prose-man, party-man, translator-
H, your best title yet is Indicator.


Jenny Kiss’d Me

by Leigh Hunt

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.

The Smile, The Tear, The Sun, The Show’r

The Housekeeper

by Charles Lamb (1775-1834)

The frugal snail, with forecast of repose,   
Carries his house with him where’er he goes;   
Peeps out,—and if there comes a shower of rain,   
Retreats to his small domicile again.   
Touch but a tip of him, a horn, – ’tis well, –          
He curls up in his sanctuary shell.   
He ’s his own landlord, his own tenant; stay   
Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day.   
Himself he boards and lodges; both invites   
And feasts himself; sleeps with himself o’ nights.       
He spares the upholsterer trouble to procure   
Chattels; himself is his own furniture,   
And his sole riches. Wheresoe’er he roam, –  
Knock when you will, – he ’s sure to be at home.


Beauty’s Song

by Charles Lamb

What’s Life still changing ev’ry hour?
Tis all the seasons in a Day!
The Smile, the Tear, the Sun, the Show’r”
Tis now December, now tis May
At morn we hail some envied Queen;
At eve she sinks some Cottage guest;
Yet if contentment gilds the scene
Contentment makes the Cottage blest.

Who more than I, this truth can feel?
I feel it yet am charm’d to find
While thus I turn the spinning-wheel
The station humbles not the mind.
Ah no! in days of youth and health
Nature will smile tho’ fortune frown
Be this my song Content is wealth”
And duty ev’ry toil shall crown.