Alexander Pope

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.

In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies;
All quit their sphere and rush into the skies.
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In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies;
All quit their sphere and rush into the skies.
Pride still is aiming at the bless'd abodes,
Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air in his read more

Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air in his own ground.

Such as she is, who died to-day,
Such thou alas! mayst be to-morrow.

Such as she is, who died to-day,
Such thou alas! mayst be to-morrow.

The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.

The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.