Blest leisure is our curse; like that of Cain, It, makes us wander, wander earth around, To fly that tyrant Thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour.
Edward YoungLife's cares are comforts; such by Heav'n design'd; He that hath none must make them, or be wretched.
Edward YoungWe bleed, we tremble; we forget, we smile - The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry
Edward YoungThe bell strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours.
Edward Young