Maxioms by William Watson 1
The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some read more
The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some dang'rous taint they bear;
So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.
And sanguine hope through every storm of life,
Shoots her bright beams, and calms the internal strife.
And sanguine hope through every storm of life,
Shoots her bright beams, and calms the internal strife.
