A poem by Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
I.
Silence! coeval with Eternity;
Thou wert, ere Nature’s-self began to be,
‘Twas one vast Nothing, all, and all slept fast in thee.
II.
Thine was the sway, ere heav’n was form’d, or earth,
Ere fruitful Thought conceiv’d creation’s birth,
Or midwife Word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth.
III.
Then various elements, against thee join’d,
In one more various animal combin’d,
And fam’d the clam’rous race of busy Human-kind.
IV.
The tongue mov’d gently first, and speech was low,
‘Till wrangling Science taught it noise and show,
And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe.
V.
But rebel Wit deserts thee oft’ in vain;
Lost in the maze of words he turns again,
And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.
VI.
Afflicted Sense thou kindly dost set free,
Oppress’d with argumental tyranny,
And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee.
VII.
With thee in private modest Dulness lies,
And in thy bosom lurks in Thought’s disguise;
Thou varnisher of Fools, and cheat of all the Wise!
VIII.
Yet thy indulgence is by both confest;
Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast,
And ’tis in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for rest.
IX.
Silence the knave’s repute, the whore’s good name,
The only honour of the wishing dame;
Thy very want of tongue makes thee a kind of Fame.
X.
But could’st thou seize some tongues that now are free,
How Church and State should be oblig’d to thee!
At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome would’st thou be!
XI.
Yet speech ev’n there, submissively withdraws,
From rights of subjects, and the poor man’s cause:
Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy Laws.
XII.
Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,
What Fav’rites gain, and what the Nation owes,
Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.
XIII.
The country wit, religion of the town,
The courtier’s learning, policy o’ th’ gown,
Are best by thee express’d; and shine in thee alone.
XIV.
The parson’s cant, the lawyer’s sophistry,
Lord’s quibble, critic’s jest; all end in thee,
All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.
A few random poems:
- The Ballad Of The Foxhunter by William Butler Yeats
- In The Early Pearly Morning
- The Kiss: A Dialogue by Robert Herrick
- Николай Заболоцкий – Птичий двор
- Advice to the Ladies by William Somervile
- In spring and summer winds may blow by Walter Savage Landor
- Robert Burns: The Laddie’s Dear Sel’:
- On A Mistake In His Translation Of Homer by William Cowper
- Blighters by Siegfried Sassoon
- O the Chimneys by Nelly Sachs
- I Kiss the Feet of Angels poem – A. D. Winans poems | Poetry Monster
- Вера Павлова – Они влюблены и счастливы
- Sandys Ghost ; A Proper Ballad on the New Ovid’s Metamorphosis poem – Alexander Pope
- Clorinda And Damon poem – Andrew Marvell poems
- Astrophel And Stella; Sonnet CVIII by Sir Philip Sidney
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
- Robert Burns: Verses To Collector Mitchell :
- Robert Burns: Jockey’s Taen The Parting Kiss:
- Robert Burns: Mally’s Meek, Mally’s Sweet:
- Robert Burns: Crowdie Ever Mair:
- Robert Burns: News, Lassies, News:
- Robert Burns: The Wren’s Nest: Fragment
- Robert Burns: Leezie Lindsay: Fragment
- Robert Burns: Inscription: Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, presented to the Lady whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of-“Chloris.”
- Robert Burns: O That’s The Lassie O’ My Heart :
- Robert Burns: Song Inscribed To Alexander Cunningham:
- Robert Burns: O Bonie Was Yon Rosy Brier:
- Robert Burns: This Is No My Ain Lassie:
- Robert Burns: The Braw Wooer:
- Robert Burns: Why, Why Tell The Lover: Fragment,
- Robert Burns: Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Near:
- Robert Burns: Their Groves O’Sweet Myrtle :
- Robert Burns: Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E’e:
- Robert Burns: Mark Yonder Pomp Of Costly Fashion:
- Robert Burns: How Cruel Are The Parents: Altered from an old English song. tune-“John Anderson, my jo.”
- Robert Burns: On Chloris Being Ill:
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
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Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
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