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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.

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
High
Feather
Dies
Eagle
Made
Eagles
Soar
Feathers
Mines
Wherewith
Mine
Shaft
Fate
Wont

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Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
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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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Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
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Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
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Soft words, with nothing in them, make a song.
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Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
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Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
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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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And keeps the palace of the soul.
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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 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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Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.
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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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Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so 'tis but what we in our autumn do.
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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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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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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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Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
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Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
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