Quote

But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove Ye gods! And is there no relief for 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
Remove
Shades
Relief
Flocks
Heat
Shepherds
Gods
Herds
Summer
Brooks
Noonday
Love
Retreat
Panting
Shade
Murmuring
Closer
Shun

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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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The people's voice is odd, It is, and it is not, the voice of God.
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The doubtful beam long nods from side to side.
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True wit is nature to advantage dressed What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.
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To happy convents, bosomed deep in vines, Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines.
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It is observable that the ladies frequent tragedies more than comedies the reason may be, that in tragedy their sex is deified and adored, in comedy exposed and ridiculed.
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How do we know that we have a right to kill creatures that we are so little above, as dogs, for our curiosity or even for some use to us?
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Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies From head to ears, and now from ears to eyes.
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The scripture in times of disputes is like an open town in times of war, which serves in differently the occasions of both parties.
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Why has not Man a microscopic eye? For this plain reason, Man is not a Fly. Say what the use, were finer optics giv'n, T' inspect a mite, not comprehend the heav'n.
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Placed on this isthmus of a middle state.
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A youth of frolic, an old age of cards.
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All Nature is but art, unknown to thee All chance, direction, which thou canst not see All discord, harmony not understood All partial evil, universal good.
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Be silent always when you doubt your sense.
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Order is heaven's first law.
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Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
Alexander Pope
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And write about it, Goddess, and about it!
Alexander Pope
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Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall And universal darkness buries all.
Alexander Pope
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Where beams of imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.
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Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.
Alexander Pope