As the sweet voice of a bird, Heard by the lander in a lonely isle, Moves him to think what kind of bird it is, That sings so delicately clear, and make Conjecture of the plumage and the form.

John Taylor "The Water Poet"

Related Quotes

Fill the cup and fill the can, Have a rouse before the morn; Every minute dies a man, Every minute one is born.

— John Taylor "The Water Poet"

Fall back upon a name? rest, rot in that? Not keep it noble, make it nobler? Fools!

— John Taylor "The Water Poet"

But that old man, who is lord of the broad estate and the hall, Dropped off gorged from a scheme which left us flaccid and drained.

— John Taylor "The Water Poet"

Bring in great logs and let them lie To make a solid core of heat.

— John Taylor "The Water Poet"

As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen.

— John Taylor "The Water Poet"