Quote

Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound.

William Cowper

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William Cowper
Age: 68 †
Born: 1731
Born: November 26
Died: 1800
Died: April 25
Hymnwriter
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Translator
Writer
Berkhamsted
Hertfordshire
Time
Silken
Dove
Swift
Wing
Passes
Wings
Sound

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The solemn fop significant and budge A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge
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Grief is itself a medicine.
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Laugh at all you trembled at before.
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All affectation 'tis my perfect scorn Object of my implacable disgust.
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Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the play-place of our early days The scene is touching, and the heart is stone, That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.
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How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light.
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How readily we wish time spent revoked, that we might try the ground again where once--through inexperience, as we now perceive--we missed that happiness we might have found!
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The fall of waters and the song of birds, And hills that echo to the distant berds, Are luxuries excelling all the glare The world can boast, and her chief favorites share.
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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
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No wisdom that she may gain by experience and reflection hereafter, will compensate the loss of her present hilarity.
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Transforms old print To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.
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The still small voice is wanted.
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A heretic, my dear sir, is a fellow who disagrees with you regarding something neither of you knows anything about.
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We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.
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Strange as it may seem, the most ludicrous lines I ever wrote have been written in the saddest mood.
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We sacrifice to dress till household joys and comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, and keeps our larder lean.
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He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves besides.
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God never meant that man should scale the Heavens By strides of human wisdom. In his works, Though wondrous, he commands us in his word To seek him rather where his mercy shines.
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Whoever keeps an open ear For tattlers will be sure to hear The trumpet of contention.
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Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.
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