The poetical works of Leigh Hunt Now finally collected, revised by himself, and edited by his son, Thornton Hunt. With illustrations by Corbould |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
|
|
|
 | The poetical works of Leigh Hunt |  |
“May the devil,” thought he, “for his best new brand,
Pluck it, and strike to his soul red-hot!
Why scorn me, and mock me? and why, like a sot,
Must I stoop to him, low as his own court-plot?
Will any one tell us,—will Nature declare,—
How father so foul can have daughter so fair?
But her mother of angels dreamt in her sorrow,
And hence came this face—this dimpled May-morrow.”
Pluck it, and strike to his soul red-hot!
Why scorn me, and mock me? and why, like a sot,
Must I stoop to him, low as his own court-plot?
Will any one tell us,—will Nature declare,—
How father so foul can have daughter so fair?
But her mother of angels dreamt in her sorrow,
And hence came this face—this dimpled May-morrow.”
| The poetical works of Leigh Hunt | |