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The Sunflow'r, thinking 'twas for him foul shame To nap by daylight, strove t' excuse the blame It was not sleep that made him nod, he said, But too great weight and largeness of his head.

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
Shame
Largeness
Blame
Strove
Weight
Twas
Head
Sunflower
Sleep
Naps
Great
Daylight
Made
Foul
Thinking
Excuse

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Why to mute fish should'st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?
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But what is woman? Only one of nature's agreeable blunders.
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Ah, yet, e'er I descend to th' grave, May I a small House and a large Garden have. And a few Friends, and many Books both true, Both wise, and both delightful too. And since Love ne'er will from me flee, A mistress moderately fair, And good as Guardian angels are, Only belov'd and loving me.
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Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
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The present is all the ready money Fate can give.
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The present is an eternal now.
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And I myself a Catholic will be, So far at least, great saint, to pray to thee. Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below.
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Does not the passage of Moses and the Israelites into the Holy Land yield incomparably more poetic variety than the voyages of Ulysses or Aeneas?
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There have been fewer friends on earth than kings.
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Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's.
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Much will always wanting be To him who much desires.
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Solitude can be used well by very few people. They who do must have a knowledge of the world to see the foolishness of it, and enough virtue to despise all the vanity.
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Life for delays and doubts no time does give, None ever yet made haste enough to live.
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Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
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All this world's noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!
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Our yesterday's to-morrow now is gone, And still a new to-morrow does come on. We by to-morrow draw out all our store, Till the exhausted well can yield no more.
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May I a small house and large garden have And a few friends, And many books, both true.
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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise, He who defers this work from day to day, Does on a river's bank expecting stay, Till the whole stream, which stopped him, should be gone, That runs, and as it runs, for ever will run on.
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