A poem by Alexander Pope (1688-1744) , the greatest English poet of “Augustan” or Georgian period
As some fond virgin, whom her mother’s care
Drags from the town to wholesome country air,
Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling she must sever,
Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew;
Not that their pleasures caused her discontent,
She sigh’d not that they staid, but that she went.
She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion’d halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from opera, park, assembly, play,
To morning-walks, and prayers three hours a-day:
To part her time ‘twixt reading and bohea,
To muse, and spill her solitary tea;
Or o’er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell stories to the ‘squire;
Up to her godly garret after seven,
There starve and pray, for that’s the way to heaven.
Some ‘squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whose game is whist, whose treat, a toast in sack;
Who visits with a gun, presents you birds,
Then gives a smacking buss, and cries–No words!
Or with his hound comes hallooing from the stable,
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table;
Whose laughs are hearty, though his jests are coarse,
And loves you best of all things–but his horse.
In some fair evening, on your elbow laid,
You dream of triumphs in the rural shade;
In pensive thought recall the fancied scene,
See coronations rise on every green;
Before you pass the imaginary sights
Of lords, and earls, and dukes, and garter’d knights,
While the spread fan o’ershades your closing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies.
Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls!
So when your slave, at some dear idle time,
(Not plagued with headaches, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew,
And while he seems to study, thinks of you;
Just when his fancy paints your sprightly eyes,
Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, chairs, and coxcombs rush upon my sight;
Vex’d to be still in town, I knit my brow,
Look sour, and hum a tune, as you do now.
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- The Little Big Man by Rabindranath Tagore
- I Am Of Ireland by William Butler Yeats
- Ольга Берггольц – Ты в пустыню меня послала
- Владимир Корнилов – Вязальщица
- The Past is the Present by Marianne Moore
- Storm
- Astrophel and Stella: XLI by Sir Philip Sidney
- Helen all Alone by Rudyard Kipling
- Universal Prayer poem – Alexander Pope
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- The Death of Lincoln by William Cullen Bryant
- A Magic Moment I Remember poem – Alexander Pushkin
- Sonnet 74: But be contented when that fell arrest by William Shakespeare
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Early summer rain by Yosa Buson
- Dawn by Yosa Buson
- Coolness by Yosa Buson
- Calligraphy of geese by Yosa Buson
- Buying leeks by Yosa Buson
- Blown from the west by Yosa Buson
- Blow of an ax by Yosa Buson
- Before the white chrysanthemum by Yosa Buson
- A bat flits by Yosa Buson
- Untitled XXVII by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XXVI by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XXV by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XXIX by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XXIV by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XXIII by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XXII by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XXI by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XX by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XVIII by Yunus Emre
- Untitled XVII by Yunus Emre
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
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Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Alexander Pope (1688 – 1744) was a a post-Restoration English poet and satirist. He is a poet of the (British) Augustan period and one of its greatest artistic exponents.