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Alexander Pope
Quote #41
Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister spirit, come away!
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Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O grave! where is thy victory? O death! where is thy sting?
Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.
Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain, Here earth and water seem to strive again, Not chaos-like together crushed and bruised, B…
Say, is not absence death to those who love?
Not chaos-like together crush'd and bruis'd, But as the world, harmoniously confus'd, Where order in variety we see, And where, though all …
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