William Cowper ( 10 of 184 )
Though peace be made, yet it's interest that keep peace.
Though peace be made, yet it's interest that keep peace.
Habits of close attention, thinking heads,
Become more rare as dissipation spreads,
Till authors hear at length read more
Habits of close attention, thinking heads,
Become more rare as dissipation spreads,
Till authors hear at length one general cry
Tickle and entertain us, or we die!
England with all thy faults, I love thee still--
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
read more
England with all thy faults, I love thee still--
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrained to love thee.
If most of us are ashamed of shabby clothes and shoddy furniture,
let us be more ashamed of shabby read more
If most of us are ashamed of shabby clothes and shoddy furniture,
let us be more ashamed of shabby ideas and shoddy
philosophies. . . . It would be a sad situation if the wrapper
were better than the meat wrapped inside it.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful; messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, read more
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful; messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at interval upon the ear
In cadence sweet; read more
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at interval upon the ear
In cadence sweet; now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!
With easy force it opens all the cells
Where Memory slept.
The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws
With magic wand. So potent is the spell,
That read more
The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws
With magic wand. So potent is the spell,
That none decoy'd into that fatal ring,
Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape.
There we grow early gray, but never wise.
Unless a love of virtue light the flame,
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame;
read more
Unless a love of virtue light the flame,
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame;
He hides behind a magisterial air
He own offences, and strips others' bare.
Prison'd in a parlour snug and small,
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall.
Prison'd in a parlour snug and small,
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall.
The sounding jargon of the schools.
The sounding jargon of the schools.
