With sweet May dews my wings were wet, And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage; He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage. He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty.
The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of ainstruction.
I askèd a thief to steal me a peach He turned up his eyes I ask'd a lithe lady to lie her down Holy & meek she cries— As soon as I went An angel came. He wink'd at the thief And smild at the dame— And without one word said Had a peach from the tree And still as a maid Enjoy'd the lady.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
The record of one's life must needs prove more interesting to him who writes it than to him who reads what has been written. "I have no name: "I am but two days old." What shall I call thee? "I happy am, "Joy is my name." Sweet joy befall thee!
The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.
I have no name. I am but two days old. What shall I call thee? I happy am, Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee!
If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.
If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is,infinite.
How the Chimney-sweepers cry Every blackning Church appalls, And the hapless Soldiers sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls