Quote

Fill the bowl with rosy wine, around our temples roses twine, And let us cheerfully awhile, like wine and roses, smile.

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
Bowls
Temples
Fill
Twine
Rose
Cheerfully
Smile
Rosy
Wine
Awhile
Around
Roses
Like
Bowl

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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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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?
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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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Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.
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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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As for being much known by sight, and pointed out, I cannot comprehend the honor that lies withal whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctor.
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Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, Or what is worse, be left by it? Why dost thou load thyself when thou 'rt to fly, Oh, man! ordain'd to die? Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, Thou who art under ground to lie? Thou sow'st and plantest, but no fruit must see, For death, alas! is reaping thee.
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Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.
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Ah! Wretched and too solitary he who loves not his own company.
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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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The present is an eternal now.
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Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit Of poets triumphs over it.
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Hope! fortune's cheating lottery when for one prize an hundred blanks there be!
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Curs'd be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who brought Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught Smiths (who before could only make The spade, the plough-share, and the rake) Arts, in most cruel wise Man's left to epitomize!
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All the world's bravery that delights our eyes is but thy several liveries.
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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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Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
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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.
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What a brave privilege is it to be free from all contentions, from all envying or being envied, from receiving or paying all kinds of ceremonies!
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To be a husbandman, is but a retreat from the city to be a philosopher, from the world or rather, a retreat from the world, as it is man's, into the world, as it is God's.
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