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Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!

Alexander Pope

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Alexander Pope
Age: 56 †
Born: 1688
Born: May 21
Died: 1744
Died: May 30
Literary Historian
Poet
Translator
the City
Pope the Poet
Alexander I Pope
Alexander
I Pope
Chains
Lulled
Awake
Myriads
Rise
Chambers
Thoughts
Countless
Memories
Chamber
Brain
Chain
Many
Linked
Hidden

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Great oaks grow from little acorns. He has a green thumb. He has green fingers. He's sowing his wild oats. Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand, And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand.
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How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
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Get place and wealth, if possible with grace if not, by any means get wealth and place.
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By flatterers besieged And so obliging that he ne'er obliged.
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A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits.
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While I live, no rich or noble knave shall walk the world in credit to his grave.
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See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!
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Condition, circumstance, is not the thing Bliss is the same in subject or in king.
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Tis thus the mercury of man is fix'd, Strong grows the virtue with his nature mix'd.
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Wretches hang that jurymen may dine.
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Oh, when shall Britain, conscious of her claim, Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame? In living medals see her wars enroll'd, And vanquished realms supply recording gold?
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Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!
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But Satan now is wiser than of yore, and tempts by making rich, not making poor.
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Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools and pageant of a day So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
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True self-love and social are the same.
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Age and want sit smiling at the gate.
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Who combats bravely is not therefore brave, He dreads a death-bed like the meanest slave: Who reasons wisely is not therefore wise,- His pride in reasoning, not in acting lies.
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The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, forever, and forever! Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.
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To be, contents his natural desire, He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company. Go wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense Weigh thy opinion against Providence.
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If it be the chief point of friendship to comply with a friends motions and inclinations, he possesses this in a eminent degree he lies down when I sit, and walks when I walk, which is more than many good friends can pretend to do.
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