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

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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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Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
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How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
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Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
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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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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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Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so 'tis but what we in our autumn do.
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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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All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
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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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Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
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Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
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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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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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But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
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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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With wisdom fraught not such as books, but such as practice taught.
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Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
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To love is to believe, to hope, to know 'Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!
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