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Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.

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
Thou
Weep
Tears
Tear
Perhaps
Unseen
Though
Bliss
Soul
Kiss
Souls
Kissing

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Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both.
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There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
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For when was public virtue to be found Where private was not?
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Come, evening, once again, season of peace Return, sweet evening, and continue long! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step, slow moving, while the night Treads on thy sweeping train one hand employ'd In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day.
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Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds A stream of liberal and heroic deeds The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind.
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As if the world and they were hand and glove.
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How much a dunce that has been sent to roam, excels a dunce that has been kept at home.
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The darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.
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I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
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But conversation, choose what theme we may, And chiefly when religion leads the way, Should flow, like waters after summer show'rs, Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers.
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O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
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The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.
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I have a kitten,the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat's skin.
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A man renowned for repartee will seldom scruple to make free with friendship's finest feeling, will thrust a dagger at your breast, and say he wounded you in jest, by way of balm for healing.
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A story, in which native humour reigns, Is often useful, always entertains A graver fact, enlisted on your side, May furnish illustration, well applied But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
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A teacher should be sparing of his smile.
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It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
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[My kitten's] gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could.
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Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.
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In the vast, and the minute, we see The unambiguous footsteps of the God, Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds.
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