“Ask the faithful youth
Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved
So often fills his arms; so often draws
His lonely footsteps at the silent hour
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?
Oh! he will tell thee that the wealth of worlds
Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego
That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes
With virtue's kindest looks his aching breast,
And turns his tears to rapture.”

— Mark Akenside , book The Pleasures of the Imagination

Book II, lines 683–693
The Pleasures of the Imagination (1744)

Adopted from Wikiquote. Last update June 3, 2021. History

Help us to complete the source, original and additional information

Do you have more details about the quote "Ask the faithful youth Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved So often fills his arms; so often draws His lonely…" by Mark Akenside?

Mark Akenside 17

English poet and physician 1721–1770

Related quotes

“And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourners will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn.”

Oscar Wilde (1854–1900) Irish writer and poet

Pt. IV, st. 23 -- Wilde's epitaph
The Ballad of Reading Gaol (1898)
Source: The Picture of Dorian Gray and Other Writings

“His shroud was damp, his face was white:
He said,—"I cannot sleep,
Your tears have made my shroud so wet;
Oh, mother, do not weep!"
Oh, love is strong!—the mother's heart
Was filled with tender fears;
Oh, love is strong!—and for her child
Her grief restrained its tears.”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802–1838) English poet and novelist

The Little Shroud from The London Literary Gazette (28th April 1832)
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)

“Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate,
Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours
Weeping upon his bed has sate,
He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow book Hyperion

Motto, Hyperion, book i.
Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919)

“Nothing venture, nothing gain.
Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate,
Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours
Weeping upon his bed has sate,
He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.”

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Wer nie sein Brot mit Tränen aß

Wer nichts wagt, gerwinnt nichts.
Wer nie sein Brot mit Tränen aß,
Wer nie die kummervollen Nächte
Auf seinem Bette weinend saß,
Der kennt euch nicht, ihr himmlischen Mächte.
Bk. II, Ch. 13; translation by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Wilhelm Meister's Lehrjahre (Apprenticeship) (1786–1830)