To operas and balls my cousins take me, <br />And fond of plays my new-made friend would make me. <br />In summer season, when the days are fair, <br />In my godmother's coach I take the air. <br />My uncle has a stately pleasure barge, <br />Gilded and gay, adorned with wondrous charge; <br />The mast is polished, and the sails are fine, <br />The awnings of white silk like silver shine; <br />The seats of crimson satin, where the rowers <br />Keep time to music with their painted oars; <br />In this on holidays we oft resort <br />To Richmond, Twickenham, or to Hampton Court. <br />By turns we play, we sing-one baits the hook, <br />Another angles-some more idle look <br />At the small fry that sport beneath the tides, <br />Or at the swan that on the surface glides. <br />My married sister says there is no feast <br />Equal to sight of foreign bird or beast. <br />With her in search of these I often roam: <br />My kinder parents make me blest at home. <br />Tired of excursions, visitings, and sights, <br />No joys are pleasing to these home delights.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/home-delights/
