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Ye flowers that drop, forsaken by the spring, Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing, Ye trees that fade, when Autumn heats remove, Say, is not absence death to those who love?

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
Spring
Heat
Fade
Flower
Flowers
Farewell
Tree
Trees
Fades
Death
Cease
Goodbye
Left
Absence
Autumn
Love
Sing
Birds
Bird
Remove
Heats
Summer
Drop
Forsaken

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Genius creates, and taste preserves.
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The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read With loads of learned lumber in his head.
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Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul Reason's comparing balance rules the whole. Man, but for that no action could attend, And, but for this, were active to no end: Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot Or, meteor-like, flame lawless thro' the void, Destroying others, by himself destroy'd.
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Whether the darken'd room to muse invite, Or whiten'd wall provoke the skew'r to write In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint, Like Lee or Budgel I will rhyme and print.
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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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I lose my patience, and I own it too, When works are censur'd, not as bad but new While if our Elders break all reason's laws, These fools demand not pardon but Applause.
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For critics, as they are birds of prey, have ever a natural inclination to carrion.
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In adamantine chains shall Death be bound, And Hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound.
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I find myself hoping a total end of all the unhappy divisions of mankind by party-spirit, which at best is but the madness of many for the gain of a few.
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Some men's wit is like a dark lantern, which serves their own turn and guides them their own way, but is never known (according to the Scripture phrase) either to shine forth before men, or to glorify their Father in heaven.
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The heart resolves this matter in a trice, Men only feel the smart, but not the vice.
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Calm, thinking villains, whom no faith could fix, Of crooked counsels and dark politics.
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To err is human to forgive, divine.
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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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Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.
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From the moment one sets up for an author, one must be treated as ceremoniously, that is as unfaithfully, as a king's favorite or a king.
Alexander Pope
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Know then thyself, presume not God to scan The proper study of mankind is man.
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And not a vanity is given in vain.
Alexander Pope
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If, presume not to God to scan The proper study of Mankind is Man. Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state, a being darkly wise, and rudely great.
Alexander Pope
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What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy, Is virtue's prize.
Alexander Pope