Jenny Kissed Me

Jenny kissed 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 Im weary, say Im sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say Im growing old, but add,
Jenny kissed me.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

James Henry Leigh Hunt was an English critic, essayist, and poet, born on October 19, 1784, in Southgate, London. He was a central figure of the Romantic movement and is best known for his poems 'Jenny Kissed Me' and 'Abou Ben Adhem.' Hunt also co-founded the influential literary periodical, 'The Examiner', in 1808. He had a significant impact on his contemporaries, including John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley. Hunt passed away on August 28, 1859, in Putney, London.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

A Night-Rain in Summer

James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

Abou Ben Adhem

James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

To Robert Batty, M.D., On His Giving Me A Lock Of Milton's Hair

James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

Death

James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

English

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Rondeau

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 welth have miss'd me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss'd me.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

The Kiss

I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.

For though I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.

Sara Teasdale

Love's Riddle

    "Unriddle this riddle, my own Jenny love,
    Unriddle this riddle for me,
    And if ye unriddle the riddle aright,
    A kiss your prize shall be,
    And if ye riddle the riddle all wrong,
    Ye're treble the debt to me:

    I'll give thee an apple without any core;
    I'll give thee a cherry where stones never be;
    I'll give thee a palace, without any door,
    And thou shalt unlock it without any key;
    I'll give thee a fortune that kings cannot give,
    Nor any one take from thee."

    "How can there be apples without any core?
    How can there be cherries where stones never be?
    How can there be houses without any door?
    Or doors I may open without any key?
    How can'st thou give fortunes that kings cannot give,
   ...

John Clare

Kiss In The Rain, A

One stormy morn I chanced to meet
    A lassie in the town;
Her locks were like the ripened wheat,
    Her laughing eyes were brown.
I watched her as she tripped along
    Till madness filled my brain,
And then, and then, I know 'twas wrong,
    I kissed her in the rain!

With rain-drops shining on her cheek,
    Like dew-drops on a rose,
The little lassie strove to speak
    My boldness to oppose;
She strove in vain, and quivering
    Her fingers stole in mine;
And then the birds began to sing,
    The sun began to shine.

Oh, let the clouds grow dark above,
    My heart is light below;
'Tis always summer when we love,
    However winds may blow;
And I'm as proud as any prince,
    All honors I disdain:
She says I am he...

Samuel Minturn Peck

Kissing Time

'T is when the lark goes soaring
And the bee is at the bud,
When lightly dancing zephyrs
Sing over field and flood;
When all sweet things in nature
Seem joyfully achime -
'T is then I wake my darling,
For it is kissing time!

Go, pretty lark, a-soaring,
And suck your sweets, 0 bee;
Sing, 0 ye winds of summer,
Your songs to mine and me;
For with your song and rapture
Cometh the moment when
It's half-past kissing time
And time to kiss again!

So - so the days go fleeting
Like golden fancies free,
And every day that cometh
Is full of sweets for me;
And sweetest are those moments
My darling comes to climb
Into my lap to mind me
That it is kissing time.

Sometimes, maybe, he wanders
A heedless, aimless way...

Eugene Field

Young Jenny

The cockchafer hums down the rut-rifted lane
Where the wild roses hang and the woodbines entwine,
And the shrill squeaking bat makes his circles again
Round the side of the tavern close by the sign.
The sun is gone down like a wearisome queen,
In curtains the richest that ever were seen.

The dew falls on flowers in a mist of small rain,
And, beating the hedges, low fly the barn owls;
The moon with her horns is just peeping again,
And deep in the forest the dog-badger howls;
In best bib and tucker then wanders my Jane
By the side of the woodbines which grow in the lane.

On a sweet eventide I walk by her side;
In green hoods the daisies have shut up their eyes.
Young Jenny is handsome without any pride;
Her eyes (O how bright!) have the hue of the skies.<...

John Clare