Oliver Goldsmith

And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy.

And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy.

Aromatic plants bestow
No spicy fragrance while they grow;
But crush'd or trodden to the ground,
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Aromatic plants bestow
No spicy fragrance while they grow;
But crush'd or trodden to the ground,
Diffuse their balmy sweets around.

Thus 'tis with all; their chief and constant care
Is to seem everything but what they are.

Thus 'tis with all; their chief and constant care
Is to seem everything but what they are.

What if in Scotland's wilds we viel'd our head,
Where tempests whistle round the sordid bed;
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What if in Scotland's wilds we viel'd our head,
Where tempests whistle round the sordid bed;
Where the rug's two-fold use we might display,
By night a blanket, and a plaid by day.

Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.

Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.