John Byrom

A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.

A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.

Demons in act, but gods at least in face.

Demons in act, but gods at least in face.

How the devil is it that fresh features
Have such a charm for us poor human creatures?

How the devil is it that fresh features
Have such a charm for us poor human creatures?

But scandal's my aversion--I protest
Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

But scandal's my aversion--I protest
Against all evil speaking, even in jest.

But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? read more

But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.