William Cowper

There is a pleasure in poetic pains,
Which only poets know.

There is a pleasure in poetic pains,
Which only poets know.

The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws
With magic wand. So potent is the spell,
That read more

The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws
With magic wand. So potent is the spell,
That none decoy'd into that fatal ring,
Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape.
There we grow early gray, but never wise.

With spots quadrangular of diamond form,
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife,
And spades, the emblems of read more

With spots quadrangular of diamond form,
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife,
And spades, the emblems of untimely graves.

How various his employments whom the world
Calls idle; and who justly in return
Esteems that busy read more

How various his employments whom the world
Calls idle; and who justly in return
Esteems that busy world an idler too!

He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;
News read more

He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumbering at his back.