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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.

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
Men
Gave
Stars
Light
Admiring
Littles
Drops
Little
Gloomy
Firsts
Shade
First
Evening
Made
Delight

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All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
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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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Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
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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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How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
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With wisdom fraught not such as books, but such as practice taught.
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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 that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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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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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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What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?
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Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
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While we converse with her, we mark No want of day, nor think it dark.
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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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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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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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Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
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Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
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Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
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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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