Maxioms by John Byrom
He makes a solitude, and calls it peace.
He makes a solitude, and calls it peace.
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught read more
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?
How the devil is it that fresh features
Have such a charm for us poor human creatures?
How the devil is it that fresh features
Have such a charm for us poor human creatures?
Demons in act, but gods at least in face.
Demons in act, but gods at least in face.
