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To happy convents, bosomed deep in vines, Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines.

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
Wines
Slumber
Vines
Purple
Wine
Deep
Happy

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What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
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Truth shines the brighter, clad in verse.
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Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamtrous lapwings feel the leaden death Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
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Who know but He, whose hand the lightning forms, Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms, Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind.
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On cold December fragrant chaplets blow, And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.
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And binding nature fast in fate, Left free the human will.
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And empty heads console with empty sound.
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Though triumphs were to generals only due, crowns were reserved to grace the soldiers too.
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Fine sense and exalted sense are not half so useful as common sense.
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Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.
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Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.
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Amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think.
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Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends.
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And soften'd sounds along the waters die: Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play.
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Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.
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Curse on all laws but those which love has made.
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No, make me mistress to the man I love If there be yet another name more free More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
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Gentle dullness ever loves a joke.
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The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
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Therefore they who say our thoughts are not our own because they resemble the Ancients, may as well say our faces are not our own, because they are like our Fathers: And indeed it is very unreasonable, that people should expect us to be Scholars, and yet be angry to find us so.
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