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Alexander Pope
Quote #42
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
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Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister spirit, come away!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O grave! where is thy victory? O death! where is thy sting?
Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
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…
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.
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 …
Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.
A mighty hunter, and his prey was man.
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