Quote

Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys, Unfriendly to society's chief joys: Thy worst effect is banishing for hours The sex whose presence civilizes ours.

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
Society
Fair
Joys
Effect
Scent
Sex
Annoying
Whose
Weed
Effects
Chief
Banishing
Joy
Chiefs
Annoys
Worst
Fairs
Unfriendly
Hours
Presence
Pernicious

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And in that hour, The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell'd To such gigantic and enormous growth, Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil. Hence date the persecution and the pain That man inflicts on all inferior kinds, Regardless of their plaints.
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But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost.
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Heaven speed the canvas, gallantly unfurl'd, To furnish and accommodate a world, To give the Pole the produce of the sun, And knit the unsocial climates into one.
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Spare feast! a radish and an egg.
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Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid, Force many a shining youth into the shade, Not to redeem his time, but his estate, And play the fool, but at the cheaper rate.
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Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound.
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All we behold is miracle.
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Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.
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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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The Spirit breathes upon the Word and brings the truth to sight.
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This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to - the last retreat.
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The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all And every soul bawled out, Well done! As loud as he could bawl.
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There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart he does not feel for man.
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It is a general rule of Judgment, that a mischief should rather be admitted than an inconvenience.
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Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
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Defend me, therefore, common sense, say From reveries so airy, from the toil Of dropping buckets into empty wells, And growing old in drawing nothing up.
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Made poetry a mere mechanic art.
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No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar.
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God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to performs
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Built God a church and laughed His word to scorn.
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