To th’ active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn’s string a touch more sore and grave.
ABRAHAM COWLEYHappy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning’s gentle wine!
More Abraham Cowley Quotes
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Life is an incurable disease.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Build yourself a book-nest to forget the world without.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
This a scene of changes, and to be constant in Nature were inconstancy.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
:Though so exalted sheAnd I so lowly beTell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
A mighty pain to love it is, And ’tis a pain that pain to miss; But, of all pains, the greatest pain Is to love, but love in vain.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
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Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day, But night itself does the rich gem betray.
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Till the whole stream, which stopped him, should be gone, That runs, and as it runs, for ever will run on.
ABRAHAM COWLEY -
Nothing in Nature’s sober found, But an eternal Health goes round. Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high
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It was not sleep that made him nod, he said, But too great weight and largeness of his head.
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Fill the bowl with rosy wine, around our temples roses twine, And let us cheerfully awhile, like wine and roses, smile.
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Ah, yet, e’er I descend to th’ grave, May I a small House and a large Garden have. And a few Friends, and many Books both true
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Acquaintance I would have, but when it depends; not on number, but the choice of friends.
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Awake, awake, my Lyre!And tell thy silent master’s humble taleIn sounds that may prevail;Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire
ABRAHAM COWLEY