John Robert Cozens (1752 - December 14, 1797), was an English draftsman and painter of romantic watercolor landscapes.

The son of the Russian-born drawing master and watercolorist, Alexander Cozens, John Robert Cozens was born in London. He studied under his father and began to exhibit some early drawings with the Society of Artists in 1767. In 1776, he displayed a large oil painting at the Royal Academy in London. 1776-79 he spent some time in Switzerland and Italy, where he drew Alpine and Italian views. In 1779 he went back to London. In 1782, he made his second visit to Italy, spending much time at Naples. In 1783, he returned to England. In 1789, he published a set of Delineations of the General Character ... of Forest Trees. Three years previous to his death he became a lunatic and was supported by Dr. Thomas Monro. He died in London.

Cozens executed watercolors in curious atmospherical effects and illusions which had some influence on Thomas Girtin and J.M.W. Turner. Indeed, his work is full of poetry. There is a solemn grandeur in his Alpine views and a sense of vastness, a tender tranquillity and a kind of mystery in most of his paintings, leaving parts in his pictures for the imagination of the spectator to dwell on and search into. John Constable called him "the greatest genius that ever touched landscape." On the other hand, Cozens never departed from his primitive, almost rudimentary, manner of painting, which causes several of his works to look very like colored engravings.

See also English school of painting

All the beautiful birds flew away

back to Africa warm nests, whereas the solitary Robin has nowhere to go.
She stays and he stays and they never meet because the rule for the ones in their species
is to stay put and alone.
It´s autumn, looks like winter, miss all the colourful birds of spring
but in the pale misty days the red chest brings some hapinness,
his song big joy.

The Cow

The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple tart.

She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;

And blown by all the wind that pass
And wet with all the showers,
She walks among the meadow´grass
And eats the meadow flowers.

by Robert Louis Stevenson