Abraham Cowley

(1618 – 28 July 1667 / London)

Abraham Cowley Poems

1. Anacreontics, Drinking 1/4/2003
2. A Vote (Excerpt) 2/24/2014
3. To The Lord Falkland 2/24/2014
4. Reason, The Use Of It In Divine Matters 2/24/2014
5. The Chronicle 2/24/2014
6. An Answer To A Copy Of Verses Sent Me To Jersey 2/24/2014
7. Constantia's Song 2/24/2014
8. Epitaph 2/24/2014
9. Thisbe's Song 2/24/2014
10. The Parting 2/24/2014
11. The Usurpation 2/24/2014
12. The Welcome 2/24/2014
13. Resolved To Be Loved 2/24/2014
14. Against Fruition 2/24/2014
15. Against Hope 2/24/2014
16. Cousel 2/24/2014
17. Concealment 2/24/2014
18. Written In Juice Of Lemon 2/24/2014
19. The Spring 2/24/2014
20. The Thraldom 2/24/2014
21. The Request 2/24/2014
22. The Vote (Excerpt) 2/24/2014
23. Bathing In The River 2/24/2014
24. Inconstancy 2/24/2014
25. Sleep 2/24/2014
26. Of Wit 2/24/2014
27. The Innocent Ill 2/24/2014
28. To Sir William Davenant 2/24/2014
29. On The Death Of Sir Henry Wootton 2/24/2014
30. The Motto 2/24/2014
31. The Tree Of Knowledge 2/24/2014
32. The Given Love 2/24/2014
33. Not Fair 2/24/2014
34. The Heart Breaking 2/24/2014
35. The Thief 2/24/2014
36. Platonick Love 2/24/2014
37. The Praise Of Pindar In Imitation Of Horace His Second Ode, Book 4 4/19/2010
38. Anacreontics, The Epicure 1/4/2003
39. A Vote (Excerpt) 1/1/2004
40. The Epicure 4/19/2010

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Best Poem of Abraham Cowley

Beauty

LIBERAL Nature did dispence
To all things Arms for their defence;
And some she arms with sin'ewy force,
And some with swiftness in the course;
Some with hard Hoofs, or forked claws,
And some with Horns, or tusked jaws.
And some with Scales, and some with Wings,
And some with Teeth, and some with Stings.
Wisdom to Man she did afford,
Wisdom for Shield, and Wit for Sword.
What to beauteous Woman-kind,
What Arms, what Armour has she'assigne'd?
Beauty is both; for with the Faire
What Arms, what Armour can compare?
What Steel, what Gold, or Diamond,
More...

Read the full of Beauty

A Vote (Excerpt)

...
This only grant me: that my means may lie
Too low for envy, for contempt too high.
Some honour I would have,
Not from great deeds, but good alone;
Th' ignote are better than ill-known,
Rumour can ope the grave.
Acquaintance I would hug, but when 't depends
Not from the number, but the choice of friends.

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