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Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.

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
Happy
Free
Anguish
Innocence
Innocent
Faults
Whose
Thoughts
Equal

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How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
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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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Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
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Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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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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Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
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Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so 'tis but what we in our autumn do.
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Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
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And keeps the palace of the soul.
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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.
Edmund Waller
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What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?
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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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The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
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Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
Edmund Waller
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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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Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care! Over whose heads those arrows fly, Of sad distrust and jealousy.
Edmund Waller
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Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
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Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
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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