:
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad;
Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old, but add--
Jennie kiss'd me!

The Jennie here immortalized is said to have been Jane Welsh Carlyle.

Perhaps Hunt's most quoted poem is his "Abou Ben Adhem," in which he
asks the angel to "write me as one that loves his fellow-men." This is
typical of his life's attitude to mankind. He had a kindly feeling for
all. The line was placed on his tombstone in Kensal Green Cemetery by
those who knew him best, his friends feeling that it most fittingly
indicated the kindliness of his character.

This poem rightly is considered the most meritorious of all Hunt wrote,
and it is quoted here because we love it:

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 rais'd its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answer'd, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And show'd the names whom love of God had bless'd,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

The cheerful note is sounded in many of his poems:

May, thou month of rosy beauty,
Month, when pleasure is a duty.

* * * *

May's the blooming hawthorn bough;
May's the month that's laughing now.
I no sooner write the word,
Than it seems as though it heard,
And looks up and laughs at me,
Like a sweet face rosily--

If the rains prolong unduly the winter, he can love May in books; for

There is May in books for ever;
May will part from Spenser never;
May's in Milton, May's in Prior;
May's in Chaucer, Thompson, Dyer;
May's in all the Italian books;
She has old and modern nooks,
Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves
In happy places they call shelves,
And will rise, and dress your rooms
With a drapery thick with blooms.
Come, ye rains then, if ye will,
May's at home, and with me still;
But come rather, thou