Edmund Waller Quotes

We write in sand, our language grows, And like our tide ours overflows.

But who can hope his lines shou’d long Last, in a daily changing tongue? While they are new, envy prevails, And as that dies, our language fails.

Poets may boast (as safely-vain) Their work shall with the world remain: Both bound together, live, or die, The verses and the prophecy.

Since thou wouldst needs, bewitched with some ill charms, Be buried in those monumental arms: As we can wish, is, may that earth lie light Upon thy tender limbs, and so good night.

Phillis, why shou’d we delay Pleasures shorter than the day?

Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retire; Bid her come forth, Suffer her self to be desire, And not blush to be admire.