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While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.

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
Poet
Reader
Sleep
Vigils
Keep
Pensive
Give
Sleepless
Giving
Poets
Readers
Painful

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He best can paint them who shall feel them most.
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Who sees pale Mammom pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor.
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For thee I dim these eye and stuff this head With all such reading as was never read.
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Some old men, continually praise the time of their youth. In fact, you would almost think that there were no fools in their days, but unluckily they themselves are left as an example.
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Those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
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Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!
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The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
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And you, my Critics! in the chequer'd shade, Admire new light thro' holes yourselves have made.
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Curse on all laws but those which love has made.
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Sleep and death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace.
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Order is heaven's first law.
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Our business in the field of fight, Is not to question, but to prove our might.
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Whoe'er he be That tells my faults, I hate him mortally.
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Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.
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Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
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To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
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Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always To be Blest.
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Is that a birthday? 'tis, alas! too clear 'Tis but the funeral of the former year.
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A little learning is a dangerous thing Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.
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And more than echoes talk along the walls.
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