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Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat defects of judgment, and the will subdue walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore of that vast ocean it must sail so soon.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Judgment
Retreat
Soon
Sail
Walk
Thoughtful
Silence
Shore
Walks
Cover
Concourse
Age
Vast
Subdue
Must
Silent
Solemn
Ocean
Defects

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And friend received with thumps upon the back.
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Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.
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The soft whispers of the God in man.
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On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
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We nothing know, but what is marvellous Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
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Old men love novelties the last arriv'd Still pleases best the youngest steals their smiles.
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We push time from us, and we wish him back * * * * * * Life we think long and short death seek and shun.
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Think naught a trifle, though it small appear Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.
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The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
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A soul without reflection, like a pile Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.
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Give me, indulgent gods with mind serene, And guiltless heart, to range the sylvan scene, No splendid poverty, no smiling care, No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur, there.
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There is something about poetry beyond prose logic, there is mystery in it, not to be explained but admired.
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Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness, The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill. That only, and that amply this performs.
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How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
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Truth never was indebted to a lie
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A land of levity is a land of guilt.
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And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
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The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done
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Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.
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What most we wish, with ease we fancy near.
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