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Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.

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
Felt
Penury
Thought
Colloquial
Chain
Pleasures
Chains
Sweet
Poverty
Pleasure

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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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Books are not seldom talismans and spells.
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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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Unless a love of virtue light the flame, Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame He hides behind a magisterial air He own offences, and strips others' bare.
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Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse, But talking is not always to converse, Not more distinct from harmony divine The constant creaking of a country sign.
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How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
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Sin let loose speaks punishment at hand.
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Remorse, the fatal egg that pleasure laid.
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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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Then liberty, like day, Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from Heaven Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.
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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown, And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort, And mar the face of beauty, when no cause For such immeasurable woe appears These Flora banishes, and gives the fair Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own.
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Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much.
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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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There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
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Tea - the cups that cheer but not inebriate.
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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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Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, Delightful industry enjoy'd at home, An Nature, in her cultivated trim Dress'ed to his taste, inviting him abroad - Can he want occupation who has these?
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An idler is a watch that wants both hands As useless if it goes as when it stands.
William Cowper
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... she, that will with kittens jest, Should bear a kitten's joke.
William Cowper