Date: 1713

"Sometimes, to wander through perfumed groves, or enamelled meadows, in the fancy of a poet."

— Berkeley, George (1685-1753)

Date: 1713

"But oh! my Friends, your Safety fills my Heart / With anxious Thoughts: A thousand secret Terrors, / Rise in my Soul."

— Addison, Joseph (1672-1719)

Date: 1713

"Imperial Reason keeps her awful Throne, / Above the Tumult reigns unmov'd alone: / At her Command intestine Discords cease, / And all th' inferiour Pow'rs lie hush'd in Peace."

— Trapp, Joseph (1679-1747)

Date: 1713

"In a Glass-House, the Workmen often fling in a small quantity of fresh Coals, which seems to disturb the Fire, but very much enlivens it. This seems to allude to a gentle stirring of the Passions, that the Mind may not languish."

— Swift, Jonathan (1667-1745)

Date: 1714

"This foolish Woman hangs about my Heart, / Lingers, and wanders in my Fancy still."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1714

"'Tis all in vain, this Rage that tears thy Bosom, / Like a poor Bird that flutters in its Cage, / Thou beat'st thy self to Death."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715-1720

"As some way-faring Man, who wanders o'er / In Thought, a Length of Lands he trod before, / Sends forth his active Mind from Place to Place, / Joins Hill to Dale, and measures Space with Space: / So swift flew Juno to the blest Abodes, / If Thought of Man can match the Speed of Gods."

— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)

Date: 1715

"Thy gentle Temper, / Is form'd with Passions mixt in due Proportion, / Where no one overbears nor plays the Tyrant, / But join in Nature's Business, and thy Happiness: / While mine disdaining Reason and her Laws, / Like all thou can'st imagine wild and furious, / Now drive me head-long on, now w...

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Oh! Pembroke, 'tis in vain to hide from thee; / For thou hast look'd into my artless Bosom, / And seen at once the Hurry of my Soul."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1715

"Shall thy Soul / Still scorn the World, still flie the Joys that court / Thy blooming Beauty, and thy tender Youth? / Still shall she soar on Contemplation's Wing, / And mix with nothing meaner than the Stars; / As Heaven and Immortality alone / Were Objects worthy to employ her Faculties."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)