I try to keep my antennas up for writers mentioned by writers that I like. In reading Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, the name William Cowper cropped up. With the typical British obfuscation of such things, his name is pronouced “Cooper”, and he was evidently a forerunner of the Romantic movement (Wordsworth, etc.) In looking through his poems, I came up with this one, which poses a nifty riddle. I’ve spent weeks, on and off, in banging my head against it, but still don’t have a solution that satisfies me. Suggestions welcome … as long as they come from your own noodle, and not The Great Google.
I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold,
And the parent of numbers that cannot be told.
I am lawful, unlawful — a duty, a fault,
I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought;
An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course,
And yielded with pleasure when taken by force.