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

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And keeps the palace of the soul.
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Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
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What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?
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Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
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With wisdom fraught not such as books, but such as practice taught.
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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 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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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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Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
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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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Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
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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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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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But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
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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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Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.
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The fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace And makes all ills that vex us here to cease.
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Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
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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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