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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.

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
Right
Brutes
Monarch
Disputes
Fowl
Centre
Survey
Round
Monarchs
Rounds
Dispute
Sea
Brute
None
Surveys
Lord
Royalty

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England, with all thy faults I love thee still, My country!
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No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar.
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Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.
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[My kitten's] gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could.
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Books are not seldom talismans and spells.
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As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, And hides the ruin that it feeds upon, So sophistry, cleaves close to, and protects Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects.
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Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa around, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in
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I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, for how could we do without sugar and rum?
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The slaves of custom and established mode, With pack-horse constancy we keep the road Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells.
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They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.
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Though peace be made, yet it's interest that keep peace.
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Did Charity prevail, the press would prove A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love.
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Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.
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Whoever keeps an open ear For tattlers will be sure to hear The trumpet of contention.
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Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.
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