Alexander Pope

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
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To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold--
For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage.

Condemned whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more.

Condemned whole years in absence to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more.

Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

We conquered France, but felt our captive's charms,
Her arts victorious triumph'd o'er our arms.

We conquered France, but felt our captive's charms,
Her arts victorious triumph'd o'er our arms.

Extremes in nature equal ends produce; In man they join to some mysterious use.

Extremes in nature equal ends produce; In man they join to some mysterious use.