Breakfast

Charles Lamb

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A dinner party, coffee, tea,
Sandwich, or supper, all may be
In their way pleasant. But to me
Not one of these deserves the praise
That welcomer of new-born days,
A breakfast, merits; ever giving
Cheerful notice we are living
Another day refreshed by sleep,
When its festival we keep.
Now although I would not slight
Those kindly words we use, "Good night,"
Yet parting words are words of sorrow,
And may not vie with sweet "Good morrow,"
With which again our friends we greet,
When in the breakfast-room we meet,
At the social table round,
Listening to the lively sound
Of those notes which never tire,
Of urn, or kettle on the fire.
Sleepy Robert never hears
Or urn or kettle; he appears
When all have finished, one by one
Dropping off, and breakfast done.
Yet has he too his own pleasure,
His breakfast hour's his hour of leisure;
And, left alone, he reads or muses,
Or else in idle mood he uses
To sit and watch the venturous fly,
Where the sugar's pil√ęd high,
Clambering o'er the lumps so white,
Rocky cliffs of sweet delight.

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Comments1
  • WeMe

    WOW, WHAT A NICE POEM BY CHARLES LAMB! IM JUST A STUDENT DOING HOMEWORK BUT IT REALLY MAKES ME APPRECIATE BREAKFAST TIME MORE. IT'S TRUE HOW MORNINGS AND "GOOD MORROW" ARE MORE SPECIAL THAN NIGHTS. KUDOS TO THE AUTHOR FOR MAKING BREAKFAST FEEL SO MAGICAL!