Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Thoughts in the style of Pope
Sonnet #16
thoughts in the style of pope
i know how little can be known
i see all others’ faults and feel my own;
my own strange purpose to find
or make an enemy of mankind?
why is the external for that internal given?
am i not a God and earth my only heaven?
i, a virtuous son, am ill at ease
the lustful “Father” gave me a dire disease.
distracted by what others feel, what others think,
all pleasures sicken, all triumphs sink;
my right too rigid hardens into wrong
for the strong too weak, for the weak too strong.
all forms that die, other forms supply,
so i can catch that final breath, and die.
poem
by
Derrick Hubert Schnabel
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black