Abraham Cowley

(1618 – 28 July 1667 / London)

Abraham Cowley Poems

1. Anacreontics, Drinking 1/4/2003
2. A Vote (Excerpt) 2/24/2014
3. To The Lord Falkland 2/24/2014
4. Reason, The Use Of It In Divine Matters 2/24/2014
5. The Chronicle 2/24/2014
6. An Answer To A Copy Of Verses Sent Me To Jersey 2/24/2014
7. Constantia's Song 2/24/2014
8. Epitaph 2/24/2014
9. Thisbe's Song 2/24/2014
10. The Parting 2/24/2014
11. The Usurpation 2/24/2014
12. The Welcome 2/24/2014
13. Cousel 2/24/2014
14. Concealment 2/24/2014
15. Resolved To Be Loved 2/24/2014
16. Against Fruition 2/24/2014
17. Against Hope 2/24/2014
18. Written In Juice Of Lemon 2/24/2014
19. The Spring 2/24/2014
20. The Thraldom 2/24/2014
21. The Request 2/24/2014
22. The Vote (Excerpt) 2/24/2014
23. Inconstancy 2/24/2014
24. Bathing In The River 2/24/2014
25. Sleep 2/24/2014
26. Of Wit 2/24/2014
27. The Innocent Ill 2/24/2014
28. On The Death Of Sir Henry Wootton 2/24/2014
29. The Tree Of Knowledge 2/24/2014
30. To Sir William Davenant 2/24/2014
31. The Motto 2/24/2014
32. The Given Love 2/24/2014
33. Not Fair 2/24/2014
34. The Heart Breaking 2/24/2014
35. The Thief 2/24/2014
36. Platonick Love 2/24/2014
37. The Praise Of Pindar In Imitation Of Horace His Second Ode, Book 4 4/19/2010
38. Anacreontics, The Epicure 1/4/2003
39. A Vote (Excerpt) 1/1/2004
40. The Epicure 4/19/2010
Best Poem of Abraham Cowley

On The Death Of Mr. Crashaw

Poet and Saint! to thee alone are given
The two most sacred names of earth and heaven,
The hard and rarest union which can be
Next that of godhead with humanity.
Long did the Muses banish'd slaves abide,
And built vain pyramids to mortal pride;
Like Moses thou (though spells and charms withstand)
Hast brought them nobly home back to their Holy Land.

Ah wretched we, poets of earth! but thou
Wert living the same poet which thou'rt now.
Whilst angels sing to thee their airs divine,
And joy in an applause so great as thine,
...

Read the full of On The Death Of Mr. Crashaw

A Supplication

Awake, awake, my Lyre!
And tell thy silent master's humble tale
In sounds that may prevail;
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire:
Though so exalted she
And I so lowly be
Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.

Hark, how the strings awake!

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