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The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made.

Edmund Waller

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Edmund Waller
Age: 81 †
Born: 1606
Born: March 3
Died: 1687
Died: October 21
Poet
Politician
Writer
Coleshill
Buckinghamshire
Gentleman that loves the peace
True son of the Church of England and a lover of his countries liberty
Edmund Waller
Dark
Light
Soul
Chinks
Made
Batter
Time
Cottage
Cottages
Lets
Decay

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Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
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Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
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In other things the knowing artist may Judge better than the people but a play, (Made for delight, and for no other use) If you approve it not, has no excuse.
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All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
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What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?
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Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
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The rising sun complies with our weak sight, First gilds the clouds, then shows his globe of light At such a distance from our eyes, as though He knew what harm his hasty beams would do.
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Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
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His kingdom come! For this we pray in vain, Unless He does in our affections reign. How fond it were to wish for such a King, And no obedience to his sceptre bring, Whose yoke is easy, and His burthen light His service freedom, and His judgments right.
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To man, that was in th' evening made, Stars gave the first delight Admiring, in the gloomy shade, Those little drops of light.
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Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so 'tis but what we in our autumn do.
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He that alone would wise and mighty be,Commands that others love as well as he.Love as he lov'd! - How can we soar so high?-He can add wings when he commands to fly.Nor should we be with this command dismay'dHe that examples gives will give his aid:For he took flesh, that where his precepts fall,His practice, as a pattern, may prevail.
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Poets may boast (as safely-vain) Their work shall with the world remain: Both bound together, live, or die, The verses and the prophecy. But who can hope his lines shou'd long Last, in a daily changing tongue? While they are new, envy prevails, And as that dies, our language fails.
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The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.
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Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.
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Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care! Over whose heads those arrows fly, Of sad distrust and jealousy.
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Others may use the ocean as their road Only the English make it their abode.
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Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
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Soft words, with nothing in them, make a song.
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