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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.

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
Littles
Preparation
Little
Rings
Skim
Feel
Notes
Leaden
Feels
Air
Heath
Life
Leave
Mounting
Lives
Larks
Fall
Airy
Death
Prepare

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By music minds an equal temper know, Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. . . . . Warriors she fires with animated sounds. Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds.
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Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
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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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Some positive persisting fops we know, Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so But you with pleasure own your errors past, And make each day a critique on the last.
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Nor Fame I slight, nor her favors call.
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The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
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Never find fault with the absent.
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Some people will never learn anything, for this reason, because they understand everything too soon.
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The difference is as great between The optics seeing as the objects seen. All manners take a tincture from our own Or come discolor'd through out passions shown Or fancy's beam enlarges, multiplies, Contracts, inverts, and gives ten thousand dyes.
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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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A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
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On cold December fragrant chaplets blow, And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.
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Where grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.
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The good must merit God's peculiar care But who but God can tell us who they are?
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It is not so much the being exempt from faults, as having overcome them, that is an advantage to us.
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Of little use, the man you may suppose, Who says in verse what others say in prose Yet let me show a poet's of some weight, And (though no soldier) useful to the state, What will a child learn sooner than a song? What better teach a foreigner the tongue? What's long or short, each accent where to place And speak in public with some sort of grace?
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In lazy apathy let stoics boast, their virtue fix'd: 't is fix'd as in a frost contracted all, retiring to the breast but strength of mind is exercise, not rest.
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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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And die of nothing but a rage to live.
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He who serves his brother best gets nearer God than all the rest.
Alexander Pope