John Dryden

Creator Venus, genial power of love,
The bliss of men below, and gods above!
Beneath the sliding read more

Creator Venus, genial power of love,
The bliss of men below, and gods above!
Beneath the sliding sun thou runn'st thy race,
Dost fairest shine, and best become thy place;
For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear,
Thy mouth reveals the spring, and opens all the year;
Thee, goddess, thee, the storms of winter fly,
Earth smiles with flowers renewing, laughs the sky.

He made all countries where he came his own.

He made all countries where he came his own.

Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, read more

Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

Drawn to the dregs of a democracy.

Drawn to the dregs of a democracy.

Behold him setting in his western skies,
The shadows lengthening as the vapours rise.

Behold him setting in his western skies,
The shadows lengthening as the vapours rise.