Alexander Pope ( 10 of 261 )
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away.
When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away.
Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear;
Who broke read more
Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear;
Who broke no promise, served no private end,
Who gained no title, and who lost no friend,
Ennobled by himself, by all approved,
And praised, unenvied, by the Muse he loved.
Say, will the falcon, stooping from above,
Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove?
Admires the read more
Say, will the falcon, stooping from above,
Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove?
Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings?
Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings?
And more than echoes talk along the walls.
And more than echoes talk along the walls.
I'll print it,
And shame the fools.
I'll print it,
And shame the fools.
Condition, circumstance, is not the thing;
Bliss is the same in subject or in king.
Condition, circumstance, is not the thing;
Bliss is the same in subject or in king.
What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
To Kerke the narre, from God more farre.
To Kerke the narre, from God more farre.
See the wild Waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, read more
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!
