Quote

Not to understand a treasure's worth till time has stole away the slighted good, is cause of half the poverty we feel, and makes the world the wilderness it is.

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
Feel
Poverty
Stole
Feels
Worth
Parting
Good
Cause
Farewell
Time
Causes
Goodbye
World
Half
Wilderness
Understand
Till
Away
Treasure
Slighted
Makes
Diversity
Bye

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Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
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Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oft-times no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
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There is a pleasure in poetic pains / Which only poets know.
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Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
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Folly ends where genuine hope begins.
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Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
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For 'tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it comes to light, In every cranny but the right.
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We bear our shades about us self-deprived Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, And range an Indian waste without a tree.
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Some drill and bore The solid earth, and from the strata there Extract a register, by which we learn, That he who made it, and reveal'd its date To Moses, was mistaken in its age.
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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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An inadvertent step may crush the snail That crawls at evening in the public path. But he that has humanity, forewarned, Will turn aside and let the reptile live.
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Toil for the brave! The brave that are no more.
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Grief is itself a medicine.
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In indolent vacuity of thought.
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Tea - the cups that cheer but not inebriate.
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Man in society is like a flow'r, Blown in its native bed. 'Tis there alone His faculties expanded in full bloom Shine out, there only reach their proper use.
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Domestic happiness, thou only bliss Of paradise that has surviv'd the fall!
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I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
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Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.
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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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