William Cowper Quotes
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Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in
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We sacrifice to dress till household joys and comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, and keeps our larder lean.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.
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Happy the man who sees a God employed in all the good and ills that checker life.
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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.
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The solemn fop; significant and budge; A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge
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The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.
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When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings.
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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.
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To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think.
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The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, / whom, snoring, she disturbs.
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Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours.
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Still ending, and beginning still.
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All we behold is miracle.
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Blest be the art that can immortalize.
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Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, but God never will.
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That good diffused may more abundant grow.
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Gardening imparts an organic perspective on the passage of time.
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The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all; And every soul bawled out, Well done! As loud as he could bawl.
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We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.
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Man in society is like a flow'r, Blown in its native bed. 'Tis there alone His faculties expanded in full bloom Shine out, there only reach their proper use.
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Ten thousand casks, Forever dribbling out their base contents, Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. Drink, and be mad then; 'tis your country bids!
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Dejection of spirits, which may have prevented many a man from becoming an author, made me one. I find constant employment necessary, and therefore take care to be constantly employed. . . . When I can find no other occupation, I think; and when I think, I am very apt to do it in rhyme.