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An infatuated man is not only foolish, but wild.

George Crabbe

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George Crabbe
Age: 79 †
Born: 1754
Born: December 24
Died: 1834
Died: February 3
Entomologist
Medicine
Poet
Surgeon
Writer
Aldeburgh
Suffolk
Foolish
Wild
Men
Infatuated
Infatuation

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Circles in water as they wider flow The less conspicuous in their progress grow, And when at last they trench upon the shore, Distinction ceases and they're view'd no more.
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In this wild world the fondest and the best Are the most tried, most troubled and distress'd.
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Shall he who soars, inspired by loftier views, Life's little cares and little pains refuse? Shall he not rather feel a double share Of mortal woe, when doubly arm'd to bear?
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With awe, around these silent walks I tread These are the lasting mansions of the dead.
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Virtues neglected then, adored become, And graces slighted, blossom on the tomb.
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Her air, her manners, all who saw admir'd Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd, And ease of heart her every look convey'd.
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Against her foes Religion well defends Her sacred truths, but often fears her friends.
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Tis easiest dealing with the firmest mind-- More just when it resists, and, when it yields, more kind.
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I grant indeed that fields and flocks have charms, For him that gazes or for him that farms.
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Life's bloomy flush was lost.
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The coward never on himself relies, But to an equal for assistance flies.
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But jest apart--what virtue canst thou trace In that broad trim that hides thy sober face? Does that long-skirted drab, that over-nice And formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice? Then for thine accent--what in sound can be So void of grace as dull monotony?
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Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, And slumber out their immortality.
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We cannot heal the throbbing heart till we discern the wounds within.
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Ability comprehends the power of doing in general, without specifying the quality or degree.
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Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme? Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread, By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?
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Soldiers in arms! Defenders of our soil! Who from destruction save us who from spoil Protect the sons of peace, who traffic or who toil Would I could duly praise you, that each deed Your foe's might honor, and your friends might read.
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Oh, rather give me commentators plain, Who with no deep researches vex the brain Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.
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And took for truth the test of ridicule.
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Blest be the gracious Power, who taught mankind To stamp a lasting image of the mind! Beasts may convey, and tuneful birds may sing, Their mutual feelings, in the opening spring But Man alone has skill and power to send The heart's warm dictates to the distant friend 'Tis his alone to please, instruct, advise Ages remote, and nations yet to rise.
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