Abraham Cowley

(1618 – 28 July 1667 / London)

Abraham Cowley Poems

1. A Supplication 1/13/2003
2. A Vote (Excerpt) 1/1/2004
3. A Vote (Excerpt) 2/24/2014
4. Against Fruition 2/24/2014
5. Against Hope 2/24/2014
6. An Answer To A Copy Of Verses Sent Me To Jersey 2/24/2014
7. Anacreontics, Drinking 1/4/2003
8. Anacreontics, The Epicure 1/4/2003
9. Anacreontics, The Swallow 1/4/2003
10. Bathing In The River 2/24/2014
11. Beauty 4/19/2010
12. Concealment 2/24/2014
13. Constantia's Song 2/24/2014
14. Cousel 2/24/2014
15. Davideis: A Sacred Poem Of The Troubles Of David (Excerpt) 1/1/2004
16. Epitaph 2/24/2014
17. Hymn To Light 4/19/2010
18. Inconstancy 2/24/2014
19. Life 4/19/2010
20. Not Fair 2/24/2014
21. Of Wit 2/24/2014
22. On The Death Of Mr. Crashaw 1/1/2004
23. On The Death Of Mr. William Hervey 1/4/2003
24. On The Death Of Sir Henry Wootton 2/24/2014
25. Platonick Love 2/24/2014
26. Reason, The Use Of It In Divine Matters 2/24/2014
27. Resolved To Be Loved 2/24/2014
28. Sleep 2/24/2014
29. Sport 4/19/2010
30. The Change 4/19/2010
31. The Chronicle 2/24/2014
32. The Despair 4/19/2010
33. The Epicure 4/19/2010
34. The Given Heart 1/1/2004
35. The Given Love 2/24/2014
36. The Grasshopper 4/19/2010
37. The Heart Breaking 2/24/2014
38. The Innocent Ill 2/24/2014
39. The Motto 2/24/2014
40. The Parting 2/24/2014

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Best Poem of Abraham Cowley

The Given Heart

I wonder what those lovers mean, who say
They have giv'n their hearts away.
Some good kind lover tell me how;
For mine is but a torment to me now.

If so it be one place both hearts contain,
For what do they complain?
What courtesy can Love do more,
Than to join hearts that parted were before?

Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come
Into the self-same room;
'Twill tear and blow up all within,
Like a granado shot into a magazine.

Then shall Love keep the ashes, and torn parts,
Of both our ...

Read the full of The Given Heart

The Wish

WELL then! I now do plainly see
   This busy world and I shall ne'er agree.
The very honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
   And they, methinks, deserve my pity
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd and buzz and murmurings,
   Of this great hive, the city.

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