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A mighty pain to love it is, And 'tis a pain that pain to miss But, of all pains, the greatest pain Is to love, but love in vain.

Abraham Cowley

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Abraham Cowley
Age: 49 †
Born: 1618
Born: January 1
Died: 1667
Died: July 28
Essayist
Playwright
Poet
Prosaist
the City
Pain
Love
Unrequited
Life
Pains
Mighty
Vain
Miss
Missing
Greatest

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But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
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What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?
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There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.
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The present is an eternal now.
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Man is too near all kinds of beasts,--a fawning dog, a roaring lion, a thieving fox, a robbing wolf, a dissembling crocodile, a treacherous decoy, and a rapacious vulture.
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Life is an incurable disease.
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Nothing in Nature's sober found, But an eternal Health goes round. Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high-- Fill all the Glasses there for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?
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Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
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The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
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Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!
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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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The monster London laugh at me.
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His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong his life, I'm sure, was in the right.
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Awake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master's humble taleIn sounds that may prevailSounds that gentle thoughts inspire:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?
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The liberty of a people consists in being governed by laws which they have made themselves, under whatsoever form it be of government the liberty of a private man, in being master of his own time and actions, as far as may consist with the laws of God and of his country.
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Come, my best Friends! my Books! and lead me on.
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To-day is ours what do we fear? To-day is ours we have it here. Let's treat it kindly, that it may Wish, at least, with us to stay. Let's banish business, banish sorrow To the gods belong to-morrow.
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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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