William Cowper

For 'tis a truth well known to most,
That whatsoever thing is lost,
We seek it, ere read more

For 'tis a truth well known to most,
That whatsoever thing is lost,
We seek it, ere it comes to light,
In every cranny but the right.

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.

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

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

Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor;
And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.

Give what thou canst, without Thee we are poor;
And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.

'Twere better to be born a stone
Of ruder shape, and feeling none,
Than with a tenderness read more

'Twere better to be born a stone
Of ruder shape, and feeling none,
Than with a tenderness like mine
And sensibilities so fine!
Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell
Forever in my native shell,
Ordained to move when others please,
Not for my own content or ease;
But toss'd and buffeted about,
Now in the water and now out.