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See! From the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings Short is his joy! He feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.

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
Feels
Wounds
Flutters
Wings
Mounts
Beats
Panting
Ground
Brake
Spring
Triumphant
Short
Fiery
Whirring
Joy
Springs
Pheasants
Blood
Wound
Exulting

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You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come: Knock as you please, there's no body at home.
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The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
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Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend.
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Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day.
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True politeness consists in being easy one's self, and in making every one about one as easy as one can.
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Who shall decide when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
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Tis strange the miser should his cares employTo gain those riches he can ne'er enjoyIs it less strange the prodigal should wasteHis wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
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Jarring interests of themselves create the according music of a well-mixed state.
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Nothing can be more shocking and horrid than one of our kitchens sprinkled with blood, and abounding with the cries of expiring victims or with the limbs of dead animals scattered or hung up here and there.
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A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead.
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Unthought-of Frailties cheat us in the Wise.
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Charm strikes the sight, but merit wins the soul.
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Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
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Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride.
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Whatever is, is right.
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The villain's censure is extorted praise.
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