Anglers boast of the innocence of their pastime; yet it puts fellow-creatures to the torture. They pique themselves on their meditative faculties; and yet their only excuse is a want of thought. — Leigh Hunt Copy Share Image
Oh for a seat in some poetic nook, Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook! — Leigh Hunt Copy Share Image
Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list,… — Leigh Hunt Copy Share Image
With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks To lie and read in, sloping into brooks. — Leigh Hunt Copy Share Image
We are violets blue, For our sweetness found Careless in the mossy shades, Looking on the ground. Love's dropp'd eyelids and a kiss,-- Such… — Leigh Hunt Copy Share Image
If you are melancholy for the first time, you will find, upon a little inquiry, that others have been melancholy many times, and yet… — Leigh Hunt Copy Share Image
Affection, like melancholy, magnifies trifles; but the magnifying of the one is like looking through a telescope at heavenly objects; that of the other,… — Leigh Hunt Copy Share Image
The person who can be only serious or only cheerful, is but half a man. — Leigh Hunt Copy Share Image
