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Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.

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
World
Retires
Admires
Carries
Retiring
Carrie
Admire
Happy

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Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
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Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
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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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How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
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Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
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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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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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Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.
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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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Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
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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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Others may use the ocean as their road Only the English make it their abode.
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With wisdom fraught not such as books, but such as practice taught.
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But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
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Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so 'tis but what we in our autumn do.
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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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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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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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Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
Edmund Waller