#EnglishWriters
This cabin, Mary, in my sight app… Built as it has been in our waning… A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to—the last retreat.
Sun! stay thy course, this moment… Suspend the o’er flowing tide of d… Divulge not such a love as mine, Ah! hide the mystery divine; Lest man, who deems my glory shame…
I was of late a barren plant, Useless, insignificant, Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore… A native of the marshy shore; But, gather’d for poetic use,
The saints should never be dismay’… Nor sink in hopeless fear; For when they least expect His ai… The Saviour will appear. This Abraham found: he raised the…
Cowper, whose silver voice, tasked… Legends prolix delivers in the ear… (Attentive when thou read’st) of… Let verse at length yield thee thy… Thou wast not heard with drowsy di…
It flatters and deceives thy view, This mirror of ill-polish’d ore; For, were it just, and told thee t… Thou wouldst consult it never more…
Here lies one who never drew Blood himself, yet many slew; Gave the gun its aim, and figure Made in field, yet ne’er pulled tr… Armed men have gladly made
There is a bird who, by his coat And by the hoarseness of his note, Might be supposed a crow; A great frequenter of the church, Where, bishop-like, he finds a per…
Enamour’d, artless, young, on fore… Uncertain whither from myself to f… To thee, dear Lady, with an humbl… Let me devote my heart, which I h… By certain proofs not few, intrepi…
Fair Lady, whose harmonious name… Through all his grassy vale deligh… Base were, indeed, the wretch, who… To love a spirit elegant as thine, That manifests a sweetness all div…
Dear President, whose art sublime Gives perpetuity to time, And bids transactions of a day, That fleeting hours would waft awa… To dark futurity, survive,
My Spouse! in whose presence I li… Sole object of all my desires, Who know’st what a flame I concei… And canst easily double its fires! How pleasant is all that I meet!
‘Ere God had built the mountains, Or raised the fruitful hills; Before he fill’d the fountains That feed the running rills; In me from everlasting,
Blest! who, far from all mankind This world’s shadows left behind, Hears from heaven a gentle strain Whispering love, and loves again. Blest! who, free from self–esteem,
They mock my toil—the nymphs and a… And whence this fond attempt to wr… Love-songs in language that thou l… How dar’st thou risque to sing the… Say truly. Find’st not oft thy pu…