Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
(Ode On Solitude)
More Quotes from Alexander Pope:
Vital spark of heav'nly flame Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying.Alexander Pope
Some have at first for Wits then Poets past, Turned Critics next, and proved plain fools at last.
Alexander Pope
To endeavor to work upon the vulgar with fine sense is like attempting to hew blocks with a razor.
Alexander Pope
'fore Gad, you must be civil!
Alexander Pope
Here files of pins extend their shining rows, Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux.
Alexander Pope
He himself one vile antithesis.
Alexander Pope
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