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

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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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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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While we converse with her, we mark No want of day, nor think it dark.
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Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
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Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
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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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How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
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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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With wisdom fraught not such as books, but such as practice taught.
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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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All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
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Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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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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The fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace And makes all ills that vex us here to cease.
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But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
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Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
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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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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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