All nature feels the renovating force
Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye
In ruin seen.
JAMES THOMSON, "Winter", The Seasons
And see where surely Winter passes off,
Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts:
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill,
The shatter'd forest, and the ravag'd vale;
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch,
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost,
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky.
JAMES THOMSON, "Winter", The Seasons
Dread Winter spreads his latest glooms,
And reigns, tremendous, o'er the conquer'd Year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends
His desolate domain.
JAMES THOMSON, "Winter", The Seasons
Ah me! from real happiness we stray,
By vice bewilder'd; vice which always leads.
However fair at first, to wilds of woe.
JAMES THOMSON, Agamemnon
Soft-buzzing Slander; silly moths that eat
An honest name.
JAMES THOMSON, Liberty
But who can count the stars of Heaven?
Who sing their influence on this lower world?
JAMES THOMSON, The Seasons
From brightening fields of ether fair-disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth;
He comes, attended by the sultry Hours,
And ever-fanning breezes, on his way.
JAMES THOMSON, "Summer", The Seasons
The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops; let all their moisture flow,
In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world.
JAMES THOMSON, "Spring", The Seasons
Studious let me sit,
And hold high converse with the mighty Dead.
JAMES THOMSON, "Winter", The Seasons
The best of men have ever loved repose:
They hate to mingle in the filthy fray;
Where the soul sours, and gradual rancour grows,
Imbitter'd more from peevish day to day.
JAMES THOMSON, The Castle of Indolence
Come, gentle Spring; ethereal Mildness, come!
JAMES THOMSON, "Spring", The Seasons
Whoe'er amidst the sons
Of reason, valor, liberty, and virtue
Displays distinguished merit, is a noble
Of Nature's own creating.
JAMES THOMSON, Coriolanus
But who can paint
Like nature? Can Imagination boast,
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?
JAMES THOMSON, "Spring", The Seasons
He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.
JAMES THOMSON, "Autumn", The Seasons
Hail! Independence, hail! Heaven's next best gift,
To that of life and an immortal soul!
JAMES THOMSON, "Liberty"
Real glory springs from the silent conquest of ourselves.
JAMES THOMSON, Sophonisba
But through the heart
Should Jealousy its venom once diffuse,
'Tis then delightful misery no more,
But agony unmix'd, incessant gall,
Corroding every thought, and blasting all
Love's paradise.
JAMES THOMSON, "Spring", The Seasons
Her lips blush deeper sweets.
