Abraham Cowley

Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
read more

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.

Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit
Of poets triumphs over it.

Poets by Death are conquer'd but the wit
Of poets triumphs over it.

The thirsty Earth soaks up the Rain,
And drinks, and gapes for Drink again;
The Plants suck read more

The thirsty Earth soaks up the Rain,
And drinks, and gapes for Drink again;
The Plants suck in the Earth and are
With constant Drinking fresh and fair.

Money was made, not to command our will, But all our lawful pleasures to fulfill. Shame and woe to us, read more

Money was made, not to command our will, But all our lawful pleasures to fulfill. Shame and woe to us, if we our wealth obey; The horse doth with the horseman away.