The Winter Walk At Noon

 

Here the heart
    May give an useful lesson to the head,
    And learning wiser grow without his books.
    Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,
    Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells
    In heads replete with thoughts of other men;
    Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
    Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass,
    The mere materials with which wisdom builds,
    Till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place,
    Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich.
    Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much,
    Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
    Books are not seldom talismans and spells
    By which the magic art of shrewder wits
    Holds an unthinking multitude enthralled.
    Some to the fascination of a name
    Surrender judgment hoodwinked. Some the style
    Infatuates, and, through labyrinths and wilds
    Of error, leads them by a tune entranced.
    While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear
    The insupportable fatigue of thought,
    And swallowing therefore without pause or choice
    The total grist unsifted, husks and all.

excerpt from William Cowper’s “The Task : Book VI” 

The Negro's Complaint, by William Cowper (1731-1800)