103 quotes
The meek-ey'd Morn appears, mother of dews.
The Seasons (1726)
For nothing human foreign was to him.
An elegant sufficiency, content,
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
Ease and alternate labour, useful life,
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven!
The Seasons (1726)
Thither the household feathery people crowd,
The crested cock, with all his female train.
The Seasons (1726)
Senseless, and deformed,
Convulsive Anger storms at large; or pale,
And silent, settles into fell revenge.
The Seasons (1726)
Base Envy withers at another’s joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.
The Seasons (1726)
'Tis silence all,
And pleasing expectation.
The Seasons (1726)
A fresher Gale
Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream,
Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn;
While the Quail clamors for his running mate.
O, what are you waiting for here? young man!
What are you looking for over the bridge?—
A little straw hat with the streaming blue ribbons
Is soon to come dancing over the bridge.
Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot.
The Seasons (1726)
Come, gentle Spring! ethereal mildness, come.
The Seasons (1726)
These as they change, Almighty Father! these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of Thee.
Hymn (1730)
The lovely young Lavinia once had friends;
And fortune smil'd, deceitful, on her birth.
The Seasons (1726)
There studious let me sit,
And hold high converse with the mighty dead.
The Seasons (1726)
Home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace, and plenty; where
Supporting and supported, polished friends
And dear relations mingle into bliss.
The Seasons (1726)
Falsely luxurious, will not man awake?
The Seasons (1726)
But who can paint
Like Nature? Can imagination boast,
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?
The Seasons (1726)
But through the heart
Should Jealousy its venom once diffuse,
'Tis then delightful misery no more,
But agony unmix'd, incessant gall,
Corroding every thought, and blasting all
Love's paradise.
He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.
The Seasons (1726)
But should you lure
From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots
Of pendent trees, the Monarch of the brook,
Behoves you then to ply your finest art.
The Seasons (1726)