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All nature mourns, the skies relent in showers hushed are the birds, and closed the drooping flowers.

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
Hushed
Rain
Bird
Skies
Flower
Mourn
Nature
Showers
Closed
Relent
Birds
Drooping
Flowers
Mourns
Sky

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Order is Heaven's first law and this confessed, some are, and must be, greater than the rest, more rich, more wise but who infers from hence that such are happier, shocks all common sense. Condition, circumstance, is not the thing bliss is the same in subject or in king.
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Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, Yet cry, if man's unhappy, God's unjust.
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Alas! the small discredit of a bribe Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe.
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No louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or lap-dogs breathe their last.
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Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
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From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike.
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Praise is like ambergrease: a little whiff of it, and by snatches, is very agreeable but when a man holds a whole lump of it to your nose, it is a stink, and strikes you down.
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The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
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Oh! blest with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day.
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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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Love seldom haunts the breast where learning lies, And Venus sets ere Mercury can rise.
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Our plenteous streams a various race supply, The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd, The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with gold, Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains.
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O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize, And make my tongue victorious as her eyes.
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O let us still the secret joy partake, To follow virtue even for virtue's sake.
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You purchase pain with all that joy can give and die of nothing but a rage to live.
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The approach of night The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.
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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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It often happens that those are the best people whose characters have been most injured by slanderers: as we usually find that to be the sweetest fruit which the birds have been picking at.
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Expression is the dress of thought, and still Appears more decent as more suitable A vile conceit in pompous words express'd, Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd.
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