Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea Quotes

14 Sourced Quotes

Friendship still has been design'd,
The Support of Human-kind...

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
My hand delights to trace unusual things,
And deviates from the known and common way;
Nor will in fading silks compose
Faintly the inimitable rose.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
Tho' I confesse, I have apply'd
Sweet mirth, and musick, and have try'd
A thousand other arts beside,
To drive thee from my darken'd breast,
Thou, who has banish'd all my rest.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
Absence on Love effects the same
As winds oppos'd to fire
Extinguishes a feeble Flame
And blows a great one higher.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
Poetry's the feverish fit,
Th' o'erflowing of unbounded wit.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
Thirst of wealth no quiet knows,
But near the death-bed fiercer grows.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
Alas! a woman that attempts the pen
Such an intruder on the rights of men,
Such presumptuous creature is esteemed
The fault can by no virtue be redeemed.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
Now the jonquil o'ercomes the feeble brain;
We faint beneath the aromatic pain.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
How are we fallen! Fallen by mistaken rules,
And education's, more than nature's, fools;
Debarred from all improvements of the mind,
And to be dull, expected and designed.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
To some few friends, and to thy sorrows sing.
For groves of laurel thou wert never meant;
Be dark enough thy shades, and be thou there content.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
Love without Poetry's refining Aid
Is a dull Bargain, and but coarsely made...

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
To-Morrow and To-Morrow, cheat our Youth:
In riper Age, To-Morrow still we cry,
Not thinking, that the present Day we Dye;
Unpractis'd all the Good we had Design'd;
There's No To-Morrow to a Willing Mind.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
Whilst Life by Fate is lent to me,
Whilst here below, I stay,
Religion, my sole businesse be,
And Poetry, my play.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea
Did I, my lines intend for public view,How many censures, would their faults pursue,Some would, because such words they do affect,Cry they're insipid, empty, uncorrect.And many, have attained, dull and untaught,The name of wit, only by finding fault.True judges, might condemn their want of wit,And all might say, they're by a woman writ.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea