Alexander Pope on Death
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“Till tired, he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.”
“Vital spark of heavenly flame! Quit, oh quit this mortal frame.”
“But thousands die without or this or that, Die, and endow a college or a cat.”
“A heap of dust remains of thee; 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!”
“O Death, all eloquent! you only prove What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love.”
“See my lips tremble and my eyeballs roll, Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!”
“By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd, By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd.”
“The world recedes; it disappears; Heav'n opens on my eyes; my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy sting?”
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