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Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, their beauty withered, and their verdure lost!

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
Behold
Shine
Silver
Shining
Verdure
Winter
Groves
Beauty
Grove
Lost
Withered
Frost

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All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.
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See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!
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Count all th' advantage prosperous Vice attains, 'Tis but what Virtue flies from and disdains: And grant the bad what happiness they would, One they must want--which is, to pass for good.
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See Christians, Jews, one heavy sabbath keep, And all the western world believe and sleep.
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Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise.
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Tis thus the mercury of man is fix'd, Strong grows the virtue with his nature mix'd.
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Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid.
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As with narrow-necked bottles the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring out.
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The race by vigour, not by vaunts, is won.
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Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows.
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Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, And though no science, fairly worth the seven.
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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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Find, if you can, in what you cannot change. Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes, Tenets with books, and principles with times.
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How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
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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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O let us still the secret joy partake, To follow virtue even for virtue's sake.
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That virtue only makes our bliss below, And all our knowledge is ourselves to know.
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Passions are the gales of life.
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The ruling passion, be it what it will. The ruling passion conquers reason still.
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An excuse is worse and more terrible than a lie for an excuse is a lie guarded.
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