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Lo! The poor Indian, whose untutored mind sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind.

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
Poor
Untutored
Mind
Hears
Indian
Sees
Clouds
God
Whose
Wind

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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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Who shall decide when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
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Education forms the common mind. Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined.
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Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated needs but to be seen Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
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At length corruption, like a general flood (So long by watchful ministers withstood), Shall deluge all and avarice, creeping on, Spread like a low-born mist, and blot the sun.
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He knows to live who keeps the middle state, and neither leans on this side nor on that.
Alexander Pope
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But honest instinct comes a volunteer Sure never to o'er-shoot, but just to hit, While still too wide or short in human wit.
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To err is human to forgive, divine.
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Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, Lie in three words,-health, peace, and competence.
Alexander Pope
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A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
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Men would be angels, angels would be gods.
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Trace Science, then, with Modesty thy guide, First strip off all her equipage of Pride, Deduct what is but Vanity or Dress, Or Learning's Luxury or idleness, Or tricks, to show the stretch of the human brain Mere curious pleasure or ingenious pain.
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Virtuous and vicious every man must be, few in the extreme, but all in the degree.
Alexander Pope
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No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n, Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n But such plain roofs as Piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
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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.
Alexander Pope
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Like following life through creatures you dissect, You lose it in the moment you detect.
Alexander Pope
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Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies From head to ears, and now from ears to eyes.
Alexander Pope
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The way of the Creative works through change and transformation, so that each thing receives its true nature and destiny and comes into permanent accord with the Great Harmony: this is what furthers and what perseveres.
Alexander Pope
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A perfect woman's but a softer man.
Alexander Pope
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How loved, how honored once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot A heap of dust alone remains of thee 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
Alexander Pope