To Miss C-----, On Her Birthday.

How many between east and west
Disgrace their parent earth,
Whose deeds constrain us to detest
The day that gave them birth!
Not so when Stellas natal morn
Revolving months restore,
We can rejoice that she was born,
And wish her born once more!

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

The Sower. - Matthew xiii.3.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

An Epitaph.

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

On The Same. (On The Burning Of Lord Mansfields Library, Together With His Mss., By The Mob, In The Month Of June 1780.)

William Cowper, Simple Poetry

Submission.

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.

Sonnet To A Young Lady On Her Birth-Day.

Deem not, sweet rose, that bloomst midst many a thorn,
Thy friend, though to a cloisters shade consignd,
Can eer forget the charms he left behind,
Or pass unheeded this auspicious morn!
In happier days to brighter prospects born,
O tell thy thoughtless sex, the virtuous mind,
Like thee, content in every state may find,
And look on Follys pageantry with scorn.
To steer with nicest art betwixt th extreme
Of idle mirth, and affectation coy;
To blend good sense with elegance and ease;
To bid Afflictions eye no longer stream;
Is thine; best gift, the unfailing source of joy,
The guide to pleasures which can never cease!

William Cowper

The Poets New Years Gift. To Mrs. (Afterwards Lady) Throckmorton.

Maria! I have every good
For thee wishd many a time,
Both sad, and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhyme.


To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly,
Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper flaws unsightly.


What favour then not yet possessd
Can I for thee require,
In wedded love already blest,
To thy whole hearts desire?


None here is happy but in part;
Full bliss is bliss divine;
There dwells some wish in every heart,
And doubtless one in thine.


That wish on some fair future day,
Which fate shall brightly gild
(Tis blameless, be it what it may),
I wish it all fulfilld.

William Cowper

To Stella On Her Birth-Day, 1721-2

While, Stella, to your lasting praise
The Muse her annual tribute pays,
While I assign myself a task
Which you expect, but scorn to ask;
If I perform this task with pain,
Let me of partial fate complain;
You every year the debt enlarge,
I grow less equal to the charge:
In you each virtue brighter shines,
But my poetic vein declines;
My harp will soon in vain be strung,
And all your virtues left unsung.
For none among the upstart race
Of poets dare assume my place;
Your worth will be to them unknown,
They must have Stellas of their own;
And thus, my stock of wit decay'd,
I dying leave the debt unpaid,
Unless Delany, as my heir,
Will answer for the whole arrear.

Jonathan Swift

To The Same. (Lines Addressed To Miss Theodora Jane Cowper.)

How quick the change from joy to woe,
How chequerd is our lot below!
Seldom we view the prospect fair;
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care
(Some pleasing intervals between),
Scowl over more than half the scene.
Last week with Delia, gentle maid!
Far hence in happier fields I strayd.
Five suns successive rose and set,
And saw no monarch in his state,
Wrapt in the blaze of majesty,
So free from every care as I.
Next day the scene was overcast
Such day till then I never passd,
For on that day, relentless fate!
Delia and I must separate.
Yet ere we lookd our last farewell,
From her dear lips this comfort fell,
Fear not that time, whereer we rove,
Or absence, shall abate my love.

William Cowper

On My Birthday, July 21

I, My dear, was born to-day
So all my jolly comrades say:
They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,
And ask to celebrate my birth:
Little, alas! my comrades know
That I was born to pain and woe;
To thy denial, to thy scorn,
Better I had ne'er been born:
I wish to die, even whilst I say
'I, my dear, was born to-day.'
I, my dear, was born to-day:
Shall I salute the rising ray,
Well-spring of all my joy and woe?
Clotilda, thou alone dost know.
Shall the wreath surround my hair?
Or shall the music please my ear?
Shall I my comrades' mirth receive,
And bless my birth, and wish to live?
Then let me see great Venus chase
Imperious anger from thy face;
Then let me hear thee smiling say
'Thou, my dear, wert born to-day.'

Matthew Prior

On The Receipt Of My Mothers Picture Out Of Norfolk, The Gift Of My Cousin, Ann Bodham.

O that those lips had language! Life has passd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thinethy own sweet smile I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,
Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles Times tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
O welcome guest, though unexpected here:
Who bidst me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long.
I will obey, not willingly alone,
But gladly, as the precept were her own:
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my re...

William Cowper