Quote

Mine be a cot beside the hill A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near.

Samuel Rogers

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Samuel Rogers
Age: 92 †
Born: 1763
Born: July 30
Died: 1855
Died: December 18
Banker
Poet
Writer
Author of an Ode to superstition
S Rogers
Saml Rogers
Mine
Brooks
Shall
Hill
Hive
Turns
Beside
Soothe
Fall
Bees
Hives
Many
Hills
Brook
Near
Linger
Ears
Mill
Mines
Mills

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Man to the last is but a froward child So eager for the future, come what may, And to the present so insensible.
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Think nothing done while aught remains to do.
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Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.
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To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
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I came to the place of my birth and cried: The friends of my youth, where are they?--and an echo answered, Where are they?
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It doesn't much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find next morning that it was someone else.
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Then never less alone than when alone.
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The soul of music slumbers in the shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before!
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Go! you may call it madness, folly You shall not chase my gloom away! There 's such a charm in melancholy I would not if I could be gay.
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A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.
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Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.
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When with care we have raised an imaginary treasure of happiness, we find at last that the materials of the structure are frail and perishing, and the foundation itself is laid in the sand.
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Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.
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Long on the wave reflected lustres of play.
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Every day a little life, a blank to be inscribed with gentle thoughts.
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Gentle to others, to himself severe.
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Example is a motive of very prevailing force on the actions of men.
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A man who attempts to read all the new productions must do as the flea does,--skip.
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Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day.
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Fireside happiness, to hours of ease Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
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