Careful Words

bliss (n.)

How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown,

Within whose circuit is Elysium

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VI. Part III. Act i. Sc. 2.

Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed

A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.

Thomas Tickell (1686-1740): On the Death of Mr. Addison. Line 45.

The hues of bliss more brightly glow,

Chastised by sabler tints of woe.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude. Line 45.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find

That bliss which only centres in the mind.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Traveller. Line 423.

Such sober certainty of waking bliss.

John Milton (1608-1674): Comus. Line 263.

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss

Of Paradise that has survived the fall!

William Cowper (1731-1800): The Task. Book iii. The Garden. Line 41.

Alas! by some degree of woe

We every bliss must gain;

The heart can ne'er a transport know

That never feels a pain.

Lord Lyttleton (1709-1773): Song.

Health is the vital principle of bliss,

And exercise, of health.

James Thomson (1700-1748): The Castle of Indolence. Canto ii. Stanza 55.

Affliction's sons are brothers in distress;

A brother to relieve,—how exquisite the bliss!

Robert Burns (1759-1796): A Winter Night.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:

The living throne, the sapphire blaze,

Where angels tremble while they gaze,

He saw; but blasted with excess of light,

Closed his eyes in endless night.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): The Progress of Poesy. III. 2, Line 4.

Bliss in possession will not last;

Remembered joys are never past;

At once the fountain, stream, and sea,

They were, they are, they yet shall be.

James Montgomery (1771-1854): The Little Cloud.

Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,

But to be young was very heaven!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Prelude. Book xi.

My mind to me a kingdom is;

Such present joys therein I find,

That it excels all other bliss

That earth affords or grows by kind:

Though much I want which most would have,

Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Edward Dyer (Circa 1540-1607): MS. Rawl. 85, p. 17.

Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!

Ah, fields beloved in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow

A momentary bliss bestow.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): On a Distant Prospect of Eton College. Stanza 2.

Alas! by some degree of woe

We every bliss must gain;

The heart can ne'er a transport know

That never feels a pain.

Lord Lyttleton (1709-1773): Song.

We thinke no greater blisse then such

To be as be we would,

When blessed none but such as be

The same as be they should.

William Warner (1558-1609): Albion's England. Book x. chap. lix. stanza 68.

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss

Of Paradise that has survived the fall!

William Cowper (1731-1800): The Task. Book iii. The Garden. Line 41.

That inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): I wandered lonely.

Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe,

That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Deserted Village. Line 413.

The sum of earthly bliss.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book viii. Line 522.

My mind to me a kingdom is;

Such present joys therein I find,

That it excels all other bliss

That earth affords or grows by kind:

Though much I want which most would have,

Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Edward Dyer (Circa 1540-1607): MS. Rawl. 85, p. 17.

And for our country 't is a bliss to die.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Iliad of Homer. Book xv. Line 583.

Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell:

'T is virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.

William Collins (1720-1756): Oriental Eclogues. 1, Line 5.

That virtue only makes our bliss below,

And all our knowledge is ourselves to know.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): Essay on Man. Epistle iv. Line 397.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find

That bliss which only centres in the mind.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Traveller. Line 423.

Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind,

But leave, oh leave the light of Hope behind!

What though my winged hours of bliss have been

Like angel visits, few and far between.

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844): Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 375.