Alexander Pope Poems on Mind (37 Poems)

An Essay on Man: Epistle II (Alexander Pope Poems)

I.Know then thyself, presume not God to scan;The proper study of mankind is man.Plac’d on this isthmus of a middle state,A being darkly wise, and rudely great:With too much knowledge for the sceptic side,With too much weakness for the stoic’s … Continue reading →

The Temple of Fame (Alexander Pope Poems)

In that soft season, when descending show’rsCall forth the greens, and wake the rising flow’rs;When op’ning buds salute the welcome day,And earth relenting feels the genial day,As balmy sleep had charm’d my cares to rest,And love itself was banish’d from … Continue reading →

The Dunciad: Book II. (Alexander Pope Poems)

High on a gorgeous seat, that far out-shoneHenley’s gilt tub, or Flecknoe’s Irish throne,Or that where on her Curlls the public pours,All-bounteous, fragrant grains and golden showers,Great Cibber sate: the proud Parnassian sneer,The conscious simper, and the jealous leer,Mix on … Continue reading →

Windsor Forest (Alexander Pope Poems)

Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats,At once the Monarch’s and the Muse’s seats,Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids!Unlock your springs, and open all your shades.Granville commands; your aid O Muses bring!What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing? … Continue reading →

Sappho to Phaon (Ovid Heroid XV) (Alexander Pope Poems)

Say, lovely youth, that dost my heart command,Can Phaon’s eyes forget his Sappho’s hand?Must then her name the wretched writer prove,To thy remembrance lost, as to thy love?Ask not the cause that I new numbers choose,The Lute neglected, and the … Continue reading →

An Essay on Man: Epistle 1 (Alexander Pope Poems)

To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of kings. Let us (since life can little more supply Than just to look about us and … Continue reading →

The Dunciad: Book III. (Alexander Pope Poems)

But in her Temple’s last recess inclos’d, On Dulness’ lap th’ Anointed head repos’d. Him close she curtains round with Vapours blue, And soft besprinkles with Cimmerian dew.Then raptures high the seat of Sense o’erflow, Which only heads refin’d from … Continue reading →

The Dunciad: Book I. (Alexander Pope Poems)

The Mighty Mother, and her son who brings The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings, I sing. Say you, her instruments the great! Called to this work by Dulness, Jove, and Fate; You by whose care, in vain decried … Continue reading →

The Basset-Table (Alexander Pope Poems)

Cardelia. Smilinda. Cardelia. The Basset-Table spread, the Tallier come;Why stays Smilinda in the Dressing-Room?Rise, pensive Nymph, the Tallier waits for you: Smilinda. Ah, Madam, since my Sharper is untrue,I joyless make my once ador’d Alpeu.I saw him stand behind Ombrelia’s … Continue reading →

Vertumnus and Pomona : Ovid’s Metamorphose (Alexander Pope Poems)

The fair Pomona flourish’d in his reign;Of all the Virgins of the sylvan train,None taught the trees a nobler race to bear,Or more improv’d the vegetable care.To her the shady grove, the flow’ry field,The streams and fountains, no delights could … Continue reading →