John Byrom

He makes a solitude, and calls it peace.

He makes a solitude, and calls it peace.

Famed
For every branch of every science known.

Famed
For every branch of every science known.

For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs,
Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter.

For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs,
Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter.

And all may think which way their judgments lead 'em.

And all may think which way their judgments lead 'em.

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught read more

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?