William Cowper ( 10 of 184 )
Nature, exerting an unwearied power,
Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower;
Spreads the fresh verdure read more
Nature, exerting an unwearied power,
Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower;
Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads
The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads.
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread;
Frowns in the storm read more
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread;
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
The only amarantine flower on earth
Is virtue.
The only amarantine flower on earth
Is virtue.
He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;
News read more
He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumbering at his back.
Silently as a dream the fabric rose;
No sound of hammer or of saw was there.
Silently as a dream the fabric rose;
No sound of hammer or of saw was there.
Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free;
They read more
Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free;
They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
They best can judge a poet's worth,
Who oft themselves have known
The pangs of a poetic read more
They best can judge a poet's worth,
Who oft themselves have known
The pangs of a poetic birth
By labours of their own.
How shall I speak thee, or thy power address
Thou God of our idolatry, the Press.
. read more
How shall I speak thee, or thy power address
Thou God of our idolatry, the Press.
. . . .
Like Eden's dead probationary tree,
Knowledge of good and evil is from thee.
