Matthew Prior

The winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars;
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The winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars;
And big waves lash the frightened shores.

Instinct and reason how can we divide?
'Tis the fool's ignorance, and the pedant's pride.

Instinct and reason how can we divide?
'Tis the fool's ignorance, and the pedant's pride.

Ev'n so, with all submission, I
. . . .
Send you each year a homely letter,
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Ev'n so, with all submission, I
. . . .
Send you each year a homely letter,
Who may return me much a better.

He will not carry his wealth to the waters of Acheron.

He will not carry his wealth to the waters of Acheron.

For hope is but the dream of those that wake. -Matthew Prior.

For hope is but the dream of those that wake. -Matthew Prior.