Quotes
Quotes - Cowper
O Winter, ruler of the inverted year!
With spots quadrangular of diamond form,
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife,
And spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
In indolent vacuity of thought.
It seems the part of wisdom.
All learned, and all drunk!
Gloriously drunk, obey the important call.
Those golden times
And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings,
And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose.
The Frenchman's darling.
Some must be great. Great offices will have
Great talents. And God gives to every man
The virtue, temper, understanding, taste,
That lifts him into life, and lets him fall
Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fill.
Silently as a dream the fabric rose,
No sound of hammer or of saw was there.
But war's a game which were their subjects wise
Kings would not play at.
The beggarly last doit.
As dreadful as the Manichean god,
Adored through fear, strong only to destroy.
He is the freeman whom the truth makes free.
With filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say, My Father made them all!
Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor;
And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased
With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave;
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village bells
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet!
Here the heart
May give a useful lesson to the head,
And Learning wiser grow without his books.
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much;
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
Books are not seldom talismans and spells.
Some to the fascination of a name
Surrender judgment hoodwink'd.
I would not enter on my list of friends
(Though graced with polish'd manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An honest man, close-button'd to the chin,
Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.
Shine by the side of every path we tread
With such a lustre, he that runs may read.
What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd!
How sweet their memory still!
But they have left an aching void
The world can never fill.
And Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees.
