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Who sees pale Mammom pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor.

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
Stewards
Pine
Backward
Pale
Store
Stores
Sees
Steward
Poor
Amidst

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Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell aspiring to be angels men rebel.
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Blest paper-credit! last and best supply! That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!
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Silence! coeval with eternity! thou wert ere Nature's self began to be thine was the sway ere heaven was formed on earth, ere fruitful thought conceived creation's birth.
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In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew?
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When I die, I should be ashamed to leave enough to build me a monument if there were a wanting friend above ground. I would enjoy the pleasure of what I give by giving it alive and seeing another enjoy it.
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What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
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Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
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Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies From head to ears, and now from ears to eyes.
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Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.
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I think a good deal may be said to extenuate the fault of bad Poets. What we call a Genius, is hard to be distinguish'd by a man himself, from a strong inclination: and if his genius be ever so great, he can not at first discover it any other way, than by giving way to that prevalent propensity which renders him the more liable to be mistaken.
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Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul Reason's comparing balance rules the whole. Man, but for that no action could attend, And, but for this, were active to no end: Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot Or, meteor-like, flame lawless thro' the void, Destroying others, by himself destroy'd.
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See plastic Nature working to this end, The single atoms each to other tend, Attract, attracted to, the next in place Form'd and impell'd its neighbor to embrace.
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Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.
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But Satan now is wiser than of yore, and tempts by making rich, not making poor.
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Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
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On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale Nor God alone in the still calm we find, He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.
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With sharpen'd sight pale Antiquaries pore, Th' inscription value, but the rust adore. This the blue varnish, that the green endears The sacred rust of twice ten hundred years.
Alexander Pope
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Reason, however able, cool at best, Cares not for service, or but serves when prest, Stays till we call, and then not often near.
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How index-learning turns no student pale, Yet holds the eel of science by the tail!
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There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said, ''Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed.
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