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

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The best way to prove the clearness of our mind, is by showing its faults as when a stream discovers the dirt at the bottom, it convinces us of the transparency and purity of the water.
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Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.
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In men, we various ruling passions find In women, two almost divide the kind Those, only fixed, they first or last obey, The love of pleasure, and the love of sway.
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Every man has just as much vanity as he wants understanding.
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Search then the ruling passion there alone, The wild are constant, and the cunning known The fool consistent, and the false sincere Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.
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No craving void left aching in the soul.
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Those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
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Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think or bravely die?
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There are some solitary wretches who seem to have left the rest of mankind, only, as Eve left Adam, to meet the devil in private.
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And make each day a critic on the last.
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When to the Permanent is sacrificed the Mutable, the prize is thine: the drop returneth whence it came. The Open Path leads to the changeless change - Non-Being, the glorious state of Absoluteness, the Bliss past human thought.
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Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day.
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Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.
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How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, and love the offender, yet detest the offence?
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Whenever I find a great deal of gratitude in a poor man, I take it for granted there would be as much generosity if he were a rich man.
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Our grandsire, Adam, ere of Eve possesst, Alone, and e'en in Paradise unblest, With mournful looks the blissful scenes survey'd, And wander'd in the solitary shade. The Maker say, took pity, and bestow'd Woman, the last, the best reserv'd of God.
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Here am I, dying of a hundred good symptoms.
Alexander Pope
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The lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife gives all the strength and color of our life.
Alexander Pope
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Lo! the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind His soul proud Science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or milky way.
Alexander Pope
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Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly, The light Militia of the lower sky.
Alexander Pope