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

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Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always To be Blest.
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Remembrance and reflection how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.
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Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends.
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The doubtful beam long nods from side to side.
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All nature mourns, the skies relent in showers hushed are the birds, and closed the drooping flowers.
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Education forms the common mind. Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined.
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No one should be ashamed to admit they are wrong, which is but saying, in other words, that they are wiser today than they were yesterday.
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Envy will merit as its shade pursue, But like a shadow, proves the substance true.
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Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
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There never was any party, faction, sect, or cabal whatsoever, in which the most ignorant were not the most violent for a bee is not a busier animal than a blockhead.
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Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne, They rise, they break, and to that sea return.
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The hog that ploughs not, not obeys thy call, Lives on the labours of this lord of all.
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See how the World its Veterans rewards! A Youth of Frolics, an old Age of Cards Fair to no purpose, artful to no end, Young without Lovers, old without a Friend A Fop their Passion, but their Prize a Sot Alive ridiculous, and dead forgot.
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Whatever is, is right.
Alexander Pope
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Wit in conversation is only a readiness of thought and a facility of expression, or a quick conception and an easy delivery.
Alexander Pope
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Then marble, soften'd into life, grew warm.
Alexander Pope
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Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep, Who lost my heart while I preserv'd my sheep.
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And more than echoes talk along the walls.
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A king may be a tool, a thing of straw but if he serves to frighten our enemies, and secure our property, it is well enough a scarecrow is a thing of straw, but it protects the corn.
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With too much quickness ever to be taught With too much thinking to have common thought.
Alexander Pope