Here rests a woman, good without pretence,
Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense:
No conquests she, but o'er herself, desired,
No arts essay'd, but not to be admired.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinced that virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so composed a mind;
So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refined;
Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried;
The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.
Epitaph Vi. On Mrs Corbet, Who Died Of A Cancer In Her Breast
Alexander Pope
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Poem topics: heaven, passion, pride, soul, good, sense, plain, strong, mind, unknown, gold, sustain, reason, soft, saint, woman, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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About Epitaph Vi. On Mrs Corbet, Who Died Of A Cancer In Her Breast
Epitaph Vi. On Mrs Corbet, Who Died Of A Cancer In Her Breast is a poem by Alexander Pope. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.