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Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.

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
Quiet
Invade
Head
Palace
Doe
Serene
Soul
Palaces
Tea
Fancy
Vapours
Aids
Vapour
Keeps
Repress

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Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.
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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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Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
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Others may use the ocean as their road Only the English make it their abode.
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Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
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What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?
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The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
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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 lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
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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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All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
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Since thou wouldst needs, bewitched with some ill charms, Be buried in those monumental arms: As we can wish, is, may that earth lie light Upon thy tender limbs, and so good night.
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Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
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Soft words, with nothing in them, make a song.
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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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The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made.
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How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
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Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
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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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Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
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