Quote

I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, And bear the marks upon a blushing face, OF needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.

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
Face
Marks
Faces
Disgrace
Upon
Scorn
Undeserved
Pain
Pity
Fancied
Self
Bear
Bashful
Feel
Shame
Needless
Feels
Mark
Blushing
Men
Bears
Disdain

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God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to performs
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Our love is principle, and has its root In reason, is judicious, manly, free.
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Without one friend, above all foes, Britannia gives the world repose.
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Still ending, and beginning still.
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No one was ever scolded out of their sins.
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Thieves at home must hang but he that puts Into his overgorged and bloated purse The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
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When scandal has new-minted an old lie, Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears Gathering around it with erected ears A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd, Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud, Just as the sapience of an author's brain, Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain.
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Oh to have a lodge in some vast wilderness. Where rumors of oppression and deceit, of unsuccessful and successful wars may never reach me anymore.
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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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What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.
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I have a kitten,the drollest of all creatures that ever wore a cat's skin.
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I am out of humanity's reach.
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The only amarantine flower on earth Is virtue.
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Grief is itself a medicine.
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Absence of occupation is not rest A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
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The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always happy, reign whoever may, And laughs the sense of mis'ry far away.
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As if the world and they were hand and glove.
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How! leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave.
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If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to despise the shame of being a little one.
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No traveler e'er reached that blest abode who found not thorns and briers in his road.
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