If I live to grow old, as I find I go down,
Let this be my fate in a country town;
May I have a warm house, with a stone at my gate,
And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate.
May I govern my passions with an absolute sway,
Grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.
- Walter Pope, The Old Man's Wish,
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Man wants but little, nor that little long;
How soon must he resign his very dust,
Which read more
Man wants but little, nor that little long;
How soon must he resign his very dust,
Which frugal nature lent him for an hour!
Some nights the sky wept stars that quickly floated and disappeared into the darkness before our wishes could meet them.
Some nights the sky wept stars that quickly floated and disappeared into the darkness before our wishes could meet them.
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
"Man wants but little here below
Nor wants that little long,"
'Tis not with me exactly so;
read more
"Man wants but little here below
Nor wants that little long,"
'Tis not with me exactly so;
But 'tis so in the song.
My wants are many, and, if told,
Would muster many a score;
And were each wish a mint of gold,
I still should long for more.
He calls his wish, it comes; he sends it back,
And says he called another; that arrives,
read more
He calls his wish, it comes; he sends it back,
And says he called another; that arrives,
Meets the same welcome; yet he still calls on;
Till one calls him, who varies not his call,
But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound,
Till Nature dies, and judgment sets him free;
A freedom far less welcome than this chain.
And the evil wish is most evil to the wisher.
And the evil wish is most evil to the wisher.
Every wish
Is like a prayer--with God.
Every wish
Is like a prayer--with God.
I've often wished that I had clear,
For life, six hundred pounds a year,
A handsome house read more
I've often wished that I had clear,
For life, six hundred pounds a year,
A handsome house to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terrace walk, and half a rood
Of land, set out to plant a wood.
O, that I were where I would be,
Then would I be where I am not;
For read more
O, that I were where I would be,
Then would I be where I am not;
For where I am I would not be,
And where I would be I can not.
