Abraham Cowley

Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
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Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill;
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread,
Nature's self's thy Ganymede.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,
But an eternal Now does always last.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,
But an eternal Now does always last.

Nature's self's thy Ganymede.

Nature's self's thy Ganymede.

Words that weep, and tears that speak.

Words that weep, and tears that speak.

Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.

Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.