William Cowper
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O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
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For 'tis a truth well known to most,
That whatsoever thing is lost,
We seek it, ere it comes to light,
In every cranny but the right.
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The only true happiness comes from squandering ourselves for a purpose.
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'Tis hard if all is false that I advance
A fool must now and then be right, by chance.
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Words learned by rote a parrot may rehearse; but talking is not always to converse, not more distinct from harmony divine, the constant creaking of a country sign.
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Glory built on selfish principles is shame and guilt.