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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
God
Whose
Wind
Poor
Untutored
Mind
Hears
Indian
Sees
Clouds

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Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
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A God without dominion, providence, and final causes, is nothing else but fate and nature.
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With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part, Say, what can Chloe want?-She wants a heart.
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Be thou the first true merit to befriend, his praise is lost who stays till all commend.
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Calm, thinking villains, whom no faith could fix, Of crooked counsels and dark politics.
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Fear not the anger of the wise to raise Those best can bear reproof who merit praise.
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Our business in the field of fight, Is not to question, but to prove our might.
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Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!
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Unblemish'd let me live or die unknown Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none!
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To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each Seene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage.
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Atheists put on false courage and alacrity in the midst of their darkness and apprehensions, like children who, when they fear to go in the dark, will sing for fear.
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Unthought-of Frailties cheat us in the Wise.
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Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamtrous lapwings feel the leaden death Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
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Is there a parson much bemused in beer, a maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, a clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, who pens a stanza when he should engross?
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Mark what unvary'd laws preserve each state, Laws wise as Nature, and as fixed as Fate.
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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To happy convents, bosomed deep in vines, Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines.
Alexander Pope
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Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.
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By music minds an equal temper know, Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. . . . . Warriors she fires with animated sounds. Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds.
Alexander Pope
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Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mixed with Gods, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand - the name appears Already written - wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeyes.
Alexander Pope