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Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.
Edward Young
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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Apart
Helmet
Cutting
Beam
Sound
Saves
Sense
Brighter
Stills
Diamond
Still
Solid
Plume
Wit
Weighty
Casts
Exposes
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Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace.
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Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.
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Prayer ardent opens heaven.
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Be wise to-day 't is madness to defer.
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It is great and manly to disdain disguise it shows our spirit and proves our strength.
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This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.
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Wonder is involuntary praise.
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Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.
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By all means use some time to be alone.
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What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind And while it satisfies, it censures too.
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Old men love novelties the last arriv'd Still pleases best the youngest steals their smiles.
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Midway from Nothing to the Deity!
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Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
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He sins against this life, who slights the next.
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Men are but men we did not make ourselves.
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When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
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Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.
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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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And friend received with thumps upon the back.
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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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