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Best Famous Alexander Pope Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Alexander Pope poems. This is a select list of the best famous Alexander Pope poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Alexander Pope poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Alexander Pope poems.

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by Alexander Pope | |

Ode on Solitude

I.
How happy he, who free from care The rage of courts, and noise of towns; Contented breathes his native air, In his own grounds.
II.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
III.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide swift away, In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, IV.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mix'd; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please, With meditation.
V.
Thus let me live, unheard, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.


by Alexander Pope | |

Sound And Sense

 True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learned to dance.
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offense, The sound must seem an echo to the sense: Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar; When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labors, and the words move slow; Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Hear how Timotheus' varied lays surprise, And bid alternate passions fall and rise!


by Alexander Pope | |

The Dying Christian to His Soul

 Vital spark of heav’nly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister Spirit, come away! What is this absorbs me quite? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death? The world recedes; it disappears! Heav’n opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy sting?


More great poems below...

by Alexander Pope | |

Couplets on Wit

 I

But our Great Turks in wit must reign alone
And ill can bear a Brother on the Throne.
II Wit is like faith by such warm Fools profest Who to be saved by one, must damn the rest.
III Some who grow dull religious strait commence And gain in morals what they lose in sence.
IV Wits starve as useless to a Common weal While Fools have places purely for their Zea.
V Now wits gain praise by copying other wits As one Hog lives on what another sh---.
VI Wou'd you your writings to some Palates fit Purged all you verses from the sin of wit For authors now are so conceited grown They praise no works but what are like their own.


by Alexander Pope | |

On a certain Lady at Court

 I know the thing that's most uncommon;
(Envy be silent and attend!)
I know a Reasonable Woman,
Handsome and witty, yet a Friend.
Not warp'd by Passion, aw'd by Rumour, Not grave thro' Pride, or gay thro' Folly, An equal Mixture of good Humour, And sensible soft Melancholy.
`Has she no Faults then (Envy says) Sir?' Yes she has one, I must aver: When all the World comspires to praise her, The Woman's deaf, and does not hear.


by Alexander Pope | |

Solitude: An Ode

 I.
How happy he, who free from care The rage of courts, and noise of towns; Contented breaths his native air, In his own grounds.
II.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
III.
Blest! who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide swift away, In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, IV.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mix'd; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please, With meditation.
V.
Thus let me live, unheard, unknown; Thus unlamented let me dye; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lye.


by Alexander Pope | |

Epigram Engraved on the Collar of a Dog Which I Gave to His Royal Highness

 I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?


by Alexander Pope | |

Solitude

 Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
 In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield shade, In winter, fire.
Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day.
Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mixed; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.


by Alexander Pope | |

The Riddle of the World

 Know then thyself, presume not God to scan
The proper study of Mankind is Man.
Placed 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 pride, He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest; In doubt to deem himself a God, or Beast; In doubt his mind and body to prefer; Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err; Whether he thinks to little, or too much; Chaos of Thought and Passion, all confus'd; Still by himself, abus'd or disabus'd; Created half to rise and half to fall; Great Lord of all things, yet a prey to all, Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd; The glory, jest and riddle of the world.


by Alexander Pope | |

Two Or Three: A Recipe To Make A Cuckold

 Two or three visits, and two or three bows,
Two or three civil things, two or three vows,
Two or three kisses, with two or three sighs,
Two or three Jesus's - and let me dies-
Two or three squeezes, and two or three towses,
With two or three thousand pound lost at their houses,
Can never fail cuckolding two or three spouses.


by Alexander Pope | |

You Know Where You Did Despise

 You know where you did despise 
(Tother day) my little Eyes, 
Little Legs, and little Thighs, 
And some things, of little Size, 
You know where.
You, tis true, have fine black eyes, Taper legs, and tempting Thighs, Yet what more than all we prize Is a Thing of little Size, You know where.


by Alexander Pope | |

Universal Prayer

 Father of all! In every age, 
 In ev'ry clime ador'd, 
By saint, by savage, and by sage, 
 Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! 

Thou Great First Cause, least understood, 
 Who all my sense confin'd 
To know but this, that Thou art good, 
 And that myself am blind: 

Yet gave me, in this dark estate, 
 To see the good from ill; 
And, binding Nature fast in Fate, 
 Left free the human Will.
What Conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do; This teach me more than Hell to shun, That more than Heav'n pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives; T' enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound, Or think thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And teach damnation round the land On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart, Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, O teach my heart To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish Pride Or impious Discontent, At aught thy wisdom has denied, Or aught that goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe, To right the fault I see: That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me.
Mean tho' I am, not wholly so, Since quicken'd by thy breath; O lead me whereso'er I go, Thro' this day's life or death! This day be bread and peace my lot: All else beneath the sun Though know'st if best bestow'd or not, And let Thy will be done.
To Thee, whose temple is of Space, Whose altar earth, sea, skies, One chorus let all Beings raise! All Nature's incense rise!


by Alexander Pope | |

Argus

 When wise Ulysses, from his native coast 
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests toss'd, 
Arrived at last, poor, old, disguised, alone, 
To all his friends, and ev'n his Queen unknown, 
Changed as he was, with age, and toils, and cares, 
Furrow'd his rev'rend face, and white his hairs, 
In his own palace forc'd to ask his bread, 
Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed, 
Forgot of all his own domestic crew, 
The faithful Dog alone his rightful master knew! 

Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay 
Like an old servant now cashier'd, he lay; 
Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man, 
And longing to behold his ancient lord again.
Him when he saw he rose, and crawl'd to meet, ('Twas all he could) and fawn'd and kiss'd his feet, Seiz'd with dumb joy; then falling by his side, Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died!


by Alexander Pope | |

From an Essay on Man

 Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of fate,
All but the page prescrib'd, their present state:
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know:
Or who could suffer being here below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv'n, That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n: Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore.
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest: The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Lo! the poor Indian, whose untutor'd mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind; His soul, proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk, or milky way; Yet simple nature to his hope has giv'n, Behind the cloud topp'd hill, an humbler heav'n; Some safer world in depth of woods embrac'd, Some happier island in the wat'ry waste, Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.
To be, contents his natural desire, He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky.


by Alexander Pope | |

Impromptu to Lady Winchelsea

 In vain you boast Poetic Names of yore,
And cite those Sapho's we admire no more:
Fate doom'd the Fall of ev'ry Female Wit,
But doom'd it then when first Ardelia writ.
Of all Examples by the World confest, I knew Ardelia could not quote the best; Who, like her Mistress on Britannia's Throne; Fights, and subdues in Quarrels not her own.
To write their Praise you but in vain essay; Ev'n while you write, you take that Praise away: Light to the Stars the Sun does thus restore, But shines himself till they are seen no more.


by Alexander Pope | |

Lines on Curll

 So when Curll's Stomach the strong Drench o'ercame,
(Infus'd in Vengenance of insulted Fame)
Th' Avenger sees, with a delighted Eye,
His long Jaws open, and his Colour fly;
And while his Guts the keen Emeticks urge,
Smiles on the Vomit, and enjoys the Purge.