Song.

Also written at the request of Lady Austen.


AirThe Lass of Peaties Mill.


When all within is peace,
How Nature seems to smile!
Delights that never cease
The livelong day beguile.
From morn to dewy eve
With open hand she showers
Fresh blessings, to deceive
And soothe the silent hours.


It is content of heart
Gives Nature power to please;
The mind that feels no smart
Enlivens all it sees;
Can make a wintry sky
Seem bright as smiling May,
And evenings closing eye
As peep of early day.


The vast majestic globe,
So beauteously arrayd
In Natures various robe,
With wondrous skill displayd,
Is to a mourners heart
A dreary wild at best;
It flutters to depart,
And longs to be at rest.

William Cowper

William Cowper was an English poet and hymnodist known for his contributions to English literature and the Evangelical revival of the 18th century. He suffered from periods of severe depression and mental illness, which influenced much of his work. Despite his struggles, Cowper produced notable works including 'Olney Hymns' in collaboration with John Newton and 'The Task,' which gained considerable popularity. His poetry is often characterized by its introspective, religious, and sometimes melancholic themes.

William Cowper

Seeking The Beloved.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

The Christian.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

The Poet, The Oyster, And Sensitive Plant.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

The Dog And The Water Lily. No Fable.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Song. On Peace.

Written in the summer of 1783, at the request of Lady Austen, who gave the sentiment.


AirMy fond Shepherds of late.


No longer I follow a sound;
No longer a dream I pursue;
O happiness! not to be found,
Unattainable treasure, adieu!


I have sought thee in splendour and dress,
In the regions of pleasure and taste;
I have sought thee, and seemd to possess,
But have proved thee a vision at last.


An humble ambition and hope
The voice of true wisdom inspires;
Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope,
And the summit of all our desires.


Peace may be the lot of the mind
That seeks it in meekness and love;
But rapture and bliss are confined
To the glorified spirits above.

William Cowper

Addressed To Miss ----, On Reading The Prayer For Indifference, An Ode, By Mrs. Greville.

And dwells there in a female heart,
By bounteous Heaven designd,
The choicest raptures to impart,
To feel the most refined


Dwells there a wish in such a breast
Its nature to forego,
To smother in ignoble rest
At once both bliss and woe!


Far be the thought, and far the strain,
Which breathes the low desire,
How sweet soeer the verse complain,
Though Phbus string the lyre.


Come, then, fair maid (in nature wise),
Who, knowing them, can tell
From generous sympathy what joys
The glowing bosom swell:


In justice to the various powers
Of pleasing, which you share,
Join me, amid your silent hours,
To form the better prayer.


With lenient balm may Oberon hence
To fairy-land be driven...

William Cowper

Lines Written In The Album Of The Countess Of Lonsdale. Nov. 5, 1834

Lady! a Pen (perhaps with thy regard,
Among the Favoured, favoured not the least)
Left, 'mid the Records of this Book inscribed,
Deliberate traces, registers of thought
And feeling, suited to the place and time
That gave them birth: months passed, and still this hand,
That had not been too timid to imprint
Words which the virtues of thy Lord inspired,
Was yet not bold enough to write of Thee.
And why that scrupulous reserve? In sooth
The blameless cause lay in the Theme itself.
Flowers are there many that delight to strive
With the sharp wind, and seem to court the shower,
Yet are by nature careless of the sun
Whether he shine on them or not; and some,
Where'er he moves along the unclouded sky,
Turn a broad front full on his flattering beams:
Others do ra...

William Wordsworth

To Mrs. King, On Her Kind Present To The Author, A Patchwork Counterpane Of Her Own Making.

The bard, if eer he feel at all,
Must sure be quickend by a call
Both on his heart and head,
To pay with tuneful thanks the care
And kindness of a lady fair,
Who deigns to deck his bed.


A bed like this, in ancient time,
On Idas barren top sublime
(As Homers epic shows),
Composed of sweetest vernal flowers,
Without the aid of sun or showers,
For Jove and Juno rose.


Less beautiful, however gay,
Is that which in the scorching day
Receives the weary swain,
Who, laying his long scythe aside,
Sleeps on some bank with daisies pied,
Till roused to toil again.


What labours of the loom I see!
Looms numberless have groand for me!
Should every maiden come
To scramble for the patch that bears
The impres...

William Cowper

Catharina. Addressed To Miss Stapleton (Afterwards Mrs. Courtney).

She cameshe is gonewe have met
And meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain.
Catharina has fled like a dream
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!)
But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.


The last evening ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I,
Our progress was often delayd
By the nightingale warbling nigh.
We paused under many a tree,
And much she was charmd with a tone,
Less sweet to Maria and me,
Who so lately had witnessd her own.


My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine,
As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine.
The longer I heard, I esteemd
The work of my fancy the more,
And een to my...

William Cowper

To The Reverend Mr. Newton. An Invitation Into The Country.

The swallows in their torpid state
Compose their useless wing,
And bees in hives as idly wait
The call of early Spring.


The keenest frost that binds the stream,
The wildest wind that blows,
Are neither felt nor feard by them,
Secure of their repose.


But man, all feeling and awake,
The gloomy scene surveys;
With present ills his heart must ache,
And pant for brighter days.


Old Winter, halting oer the mead,
Bids me and Mary mourn;
But lovely Spring peeps oer his head,
And whispers your return.


Then April, with her sister May,
Shall chase him from the bowers,
And weave fresh garlands every day,
To crown the smiling hours.


And if a tear that speaks regret
Of happier times, appe...

William Cowper