Saturday, November 27, 2010 | By: Furqon Abdi

Socioanalysis of Chimney Sweeper

Socioanalysis of Chimney Sweeper

Sociology of literature (socioliterature) is a science that examines the literature related to its relationship with human life (society). sociology of literature is divided into four categories, namely: the sociology of literature, sociology reader of literature, sociology of the author and sociology of production-consumption. however, among the four categories, sociology of literature is most often used to analyze a work of literature by academics.

Friday, November 26, 2010 | By: Furqon Abdi

Mad Song - poem by William Blake

Mad Song
by William Blake

The wild winds weep
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs infold:
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling birds of dawn
The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault
Of paved heaven,
With sorrow fraught
My notes are driven:
They strike the ear of night,
Make weep the eyes of day;
They make mad the roaring winds,
And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud,
With howling woe,
After night I do crowd,
And with night will go;
I turn my back to the east,
From whence comforts have increas'd;
For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.

Infant Sorrow - a poem by William Blake

Infant Sorrow
by William Blake

My mother groaned, my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt;
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.

I Heard an Angel - a poem by William Blake

I Heard an Angel
by William Blake

I heard an Angel singing
When the day was springing,
"Mercy, Pity, Peace
Is the world's release."
Thus he sung all day
Over the new mown hay,
Till the sun went down
And haycocks looked brown.
I heard a Devil curse
Over the heath and the furze,
"Mercy could be no more,
If there was nobody poor,
And pity no more could be,
If all were as happy as we."
At his curse the sun went down,
And the heavens gave a frown.
Down pour'd the heavy rain
Over the new reap'd grain ...
And Miseries' increase
Is Mercy, Pity, Peace.

Human Abstract - a poem by William Blake

Human Abstract
by William Blake

Pity would be no more,
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be,
If all were as happy as we;
And mutual fear brings peace,
Till the selfish loves increase;
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head;
And the Caterpillar and Fly
Feed on the Mystery.
And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat;
And the Raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.
The Gods of the earth and sea,
Sought through Nature to find this Tree,
But their search was all in vain;
There grows one in the Human Brain.

Holy Thursday - a poem by William Blake

Holy Thursday
by William Blake

'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean,
Came children walking two and two, in read, and blue, and green:
Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames waters flow.
Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs,
Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands.
Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thundering the seats of heaven among:
Beneath them sit the aged man, wise guardians of the poor.
Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

Poison Tree - a poem by William Blake

Poison Tree
by William Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree

Famous Poems from William Blake

Famous Poems from William Blake
The chimney sweeper
Poison tree
I heard an Angel
Mad song
Human abstract
Infant sorrow
Holy Thursday

Famous Poem from Robert Frost

Famous Poem from Robert Frost
The road not taken
Fire and ice

Famous Poem from William Wordsworth

Famous Poem from William Wordsworth
Written in March
I wandered lonely as a cloud
The rainbow
We are seven
The solitary reaper
Lucy gray
London, 1802
Resolution and independence
Composed Upon Westminster Bridge
Lines Written In Early Spring 

Famous Poems from William Shakespeare

Famous Poems from William Shakespeare
A fairy song
Blow, blow, thou winter

Famous Poems from Alexander Pope

Famous Poem from Alexander Pope
Sound and sense
The dying christian to his soul
You know where you did despise
Couplets on wit
Wednesday, November 24, 2010 | By: Furqon Abdi

You Know Where You Did Despise - a poem by Alexander Pope

You Know Where You Did Despise
by Alexander Pope

You know where you did despise 
(Tother day) my little Eyes, 
Little Legs, and little Thighs, 
And some things, of little Size, 
You know where. 

You, tis true, have fine black eyes, 
Taper legs, and tempting Thighs, 
Yet what more than all we prize 
Is a Thing of little Size, 
You know where.

Couplets on Wit - a poem by Alexander Pope

Couplets on Wit 
by Alexander Pope


But our Great Turks in wit must reign alone
And ill can bear a Brother on the Throne.


Wit is like faith by such warm Fools profest
Who to be saved by one, must damn the rest.


Some who grow dull religious strait commence
And gain in morals what they lose in sence.


Wits starve as useless to a Common weal
While Fools have places purely for their Zea.


Now wits gain praise by copying other wits
As one Hog lives on what another sh---.


Wou'd you your writings to some Palates fit
Purged all you verses from the sin of wit
For authors now are so conceited grown
They praise no works but what are like their own.

Solitude - a poem by Alexander Pope

by Alexander Pope

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield shade,
In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mixed; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

The Dying Christian to His Soul - a poem by Alexander Pope

The Dying Christian to His Soul 
by Alexander Pope

Vital spark of heav’nly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

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?

Sound and Sense - a poem by Alexander Pope

Sound And Sense 
by Alexander Pope

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learned to dance.
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offense,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense:
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar;
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line too labors, and the words move slow;
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Hear how Timotheus' varied lays surprise,
And bid alternate passions fall and rise!

Pigeon Story

Pigeon Story
by Furqon Abdi

One day, there was a pigeon that was a loss to find her nest. Sherly, a beautiful pigeon, had just given birth to her first child. Tom, her husband, was a stud who was much admired in the forest because of his good looks and responsibilities. Every day he fed Sherly and her children. He was always caring for them, repairing the nest when there is damage. Until at some point, Sherly was out intending to look for food for their children who are starving, while Tom had not come home, but how shocked she was when she found the nests and her children were not in the place in her return. Their nest was the only nest that was located far away and high in the tallest tree in the forest. It was too far from the other pigeons. With the confusion he was looking to and fro, asking everyone she met, on the other pigeons. However, there was none of pigeons who saw it, until she met Tom. Without capable of saying anything he hugged and cried on Tom. This made him confused, what was actually happening on Sherly, why he was not in the nest.
            "What happen my wife? Why are you not in the nest? And why do you cry? "He asked, confused.
Still sobbing, Sherly said, "Our nest honey."
"Yeah, what's wrong with our nest?"
"Our nest, lost gold," she replied.
"Hah! How come?"
he asked in surprise," did not you keep it? "
            "I've been out," he replied. "Seeing our children are starving while you're not home yet so I do not have the heart, then I'm out for a while to find their caterpillars, but when I returned they were gone."
            "I told you not to keep? Looking for food for them and for you is my duty, not you dear. "
            "I know.  I'm sorry, this is my fault."

A Fairy Song - a poem by William Shakespeare

A Fairy Song
by William Shakespeare

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter - a poem by William Shakespeare

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter
by William Shakespeare

Blow, blow, thou winter wind 
Thou art not so unkind 
As man's ingratitude; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen, 
Although thy breath be rude. 

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: 
Most freindship if feigning, most loving mere folly: 
Then heigh-ho, the holly! 
This life is most jolly. 

Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky, 
That does not bite so nigh 
As benefits forgot: 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
As a friend remembered not. 
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: 
Most freindship if feigning, most loving mere folly: 
Then heigh-ho, the holly! 
This life is most jolly

Written in March - a poem by William Wordsworth

Written in March
by William Wordsworth

The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The plowboy is whooping—anon-anon:
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone

I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud - a poem by William Wordsworth

I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud
by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Fire and Ice - a poem by Robert Frost

Fire and Ice
by Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.


by Furqon Abdi

On the great land 
You are so kind
Catch the sky
Then you cry
Still stand still you here
Green the trees green sapphire    
Wedus Gembel they said
High temperature is stayed
Fire the trees
Fire the green sapphire
All are now grey
Became a barren hill
We all indonesia
We grieve for you

The Road Not Taken - a poem by Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the differences.

The Chimney Sweeper - a poem by William Blake

The Chimney Sweeper
by William Blake

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep,
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

Theres little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lambs back was shav'd, so I said.
Hush Tom never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair

And so he was quiet & that very night.
As Tom was a sleeping he had such a sight
That thousands of sweepers Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack
Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black,

And by came an Angel who had a bright key
And he open'd the coffins & set them all free.
Then down a green plain leaping laughing they run
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind.
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

Tears for The Sun

by Furqon Abdi

when I open my eyes
see the sun shining
he rises so gently
hiding butterfly start to fly
before the sky falls
before the day after tomorrow
I close my eyes
won’t to see the pleased heart
again, in my life
she broke my heart
she trash my love
it’s too hard for me
to face the sea
still crumbly I walk
find my heart was broken
wish you will

                                 (a broken heart poem)

Wild Cheetah

by Furqon Abdi

On the earth you gently stand,
Run so fast through the land;
                Catch it! You are stronger
                Bite it! You are the winner
The long, very long, long way
By the strong step, then you go away
                Take the chance in no fear
                Still alive in the end of swear
Your pliancy makes the acceleration
The bait, straight your eyes, a direction
            Catch it! You are stronger
            Bite it! You are the winner

London - a poem by William Blake

by William Blake

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.

How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning church appalls;
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace walls.

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot's curse
Blasts the new born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.

Biography of Jules Verne

Jules Verne

Jules Gabriel Verne was born on 8 February 1828 in Nantes, Pays de la Loire, France, the first of five children born to Sophie Henriette Allotte de la Fuye (d. 1887) and Pierre Verne (1799-1871), attorney. In the busy maritime port city and summers spent on the Loire River, Verne was exposed to the comings and goings of schooners and ships that sparked his imagination for travel and adventure. After attending boarding school during which he started to write short stories and poetry, Verne settled in Paris to study law, as his father had done. However, upon obtaining his degree in 1850, he was much more interested in theatre, to his father's disappointment. Living a bohemian life, he wrote and collaborated on numerous plays, dramas, and operettas including Blind Man's Bluff (1852), often collaborating with his friend and musician Jean Louis Aristide Hignard (1822-1897).
Known as a prolific writer having more than seventy books to his name, Jules Verne was the author of classis such as Journey to the Center of the Earth and Around the World in Eighty Days. Discovered by the renowned publisher Hetzel, who published Victor Hugo, Verne would become on of the wealthiest and well-known writers of his day.
Young Jules spent much of his childhood in Nantes, France. His father was an attorney and worked a lot, supporting his family financially, but not paying much attention to his son’s creative endeavors. When Jules Verne went to Paris, France to study to become a lawyer, he used his time writing and meeting new and well-established artists of the day. He even had some of his work published with Musee des Familles, where he wrote stories about adventure with the most extravagant of inventions.
Sunday, November 21, 2010 | By: Furqon Abdi

Definition of Prose


Prose is a term for a narrative story that is prepared with the language and it has a particular storyline. The word prose comes from the Latin word which means "frank." Type of prose writing is usually used to describe a fact or idea. Therefore, the prose can be used for newspapers, magazines, novels, articles, letters, and various other media types. Basically write a story based on personal experience or someone else is prose. Prose is a literary form of writing, consists of the flow of narrative and dialogue between characters. Prose, as well as poetry can be formed from personal experience, others, or from the author's imagination. Prose is a literary work that is growing from time to time. Several types of stories included in prose, among others, tragedy, anecdote, fable, novel, short story, etc.

Prose just like poetry, as a literary work, has elements of intrinsic and extrinsic. However, unlike the one on poetry, prose forming elements tend to be more easily found if a reader has completed reading of a prose. This is because the prose has a lot of words composed by a certain path, which can carry a reader's imagination to create a scene by scene directed by the author, with a particular theme. The results of this imagination, readers can find out what it intends to be submitted by the author in his work, without having to repeatedly read a prose. This is very different from the way we understand a poem that should be read over and over again in order to determine the meaning contained in it. In addition, we also must know the elements of supporters from outside the relevant author (extrinsic) for the meaning we did not miss.
Thursday, November 18, 2010 | By: Furqon Abdi

The Intrinsic and Extrinsic Elements of poetry

The Intrinsic and Extrinsic Elements of poetry
1. Intrinsic element
intrinsic element of poetry is an element contained in a poem, which is used by analysts in studying and understanding the meaning of a poem. There are several intrinsic elements in poetry:
a. Imagery
-          Visual Imagery
Visual imagery is the imagery that can be gained from the experience of the senses of sight (eyes).
-          Kinesthetic Imagery
Kinesthetic imagery is the imagery produced from an experience that form of movement.
-          Auditory Imagery
Auditory imagery is the element of imagery associated with the sense of hearing.
-          Organic Imagery
Organic imagery is the imagery that emerged from our minds. Organic imagery can be seen in the disclosure of feelings such as hunger, thirst, fatigue, drunkenness, etc.

Definition of Poetry

What is poetry?

In general, poetry is a work composed of words, either spoken or written. All human beings and civilization has known poem from the time even before BC. They are derived from modern society to the people who are still primitive. Poetry is the work that can be enjoyed by everyone, whether they work as doctors, employees, professors, teachers, students, etc. The poem can be enjoyed as a work full of meaning, and as a means to release tension, as entertainment. For poets, poetry is a medium to convey what he feels, what he experienced and found from the environment, or with what he imagine.

There are many definitions made by experts for poetry. They give the definition is in accordance with the experience they get. Thus, poetry can be interpreted by many and diverse meanings. For Perrine, poetry might be defined as a kind of languages that says more and says it more intensely than does ordinary language (1974:553). A poem is composed of beautiful words full of meaning with a beautiful arrangement that is so interesting to read and have deepest meaning in it. Just like Shakespeare’s thought, then he called the poem in a sonnet:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Biography of William Wordsworth

William wordsworth
Wordsworth, born was born April 7, 1770, in his beloved Lake District, Cockermouth, Cumberland. He was the son of an attorney. His father was John Wordsworth, Sir James Lowther's attorney - the fifth Baronet Lowther was the most feared and hated aristocrat in all of Cumberland and Westmoreland, "an Intolerable Tyrant over his Tenants and Dependents". He went to school first at Penrith and then at Hawkshead Grammar school before studying, from 1787, at St John's College, Cambridge - all of which periods were later to be described vividly in The Prelude.

His enthusiasm for the French Revolution took him to France again. he went with friends on a walking tour to France, the Alps and Italy, before arriving in France where Wordsworth was to spend the next year in 1791. There he had an affair with Annette Vallon, who bore him an illegitimate daughter, Caroline, in 1792. Having run out of money, Wordsworth returned to England the following year, and the Anglo-French war, following the Reign of Terror, prevented his return for nine years. There he wrote, and left unpublished, his Letter to the Bishop of Llandaff - a tract in support of the French Revolutionary cause. In 1795, after receiving a legacy, Wordsworth lived with his sister Dorothy first in Dorsetand then at Alfoxden, Dorset, close to Coleridge. 

Biography of Robert Frost

Robert Frost (1874-1963),
Robert Lee Frost (named after Southern General Robert E. Lee) was born on 26 March 1874 in San Francisco, California to Isabelle Moodie (1844-1900) teacher, and William Prescott Frost Jr. (1850-1885), teacher and journalist. He moved to New England at the age of eleven and became interested in reading and writing poetry during his high school years in Lawrence, Massachusetts. After enrolling in Lawrence High School he was soon writing his own poems including “La Noche Triste” (1890) which was published in the school’s paper. He excelled in many subjects including history, botany, Latin and Greek, and played football, graduating at the head of his class.
In 1892 he entered Dartmouth, the Ivy League College in Hanover, New Hampshire, but soon became disenchanted with the atmosphere of campus life. He was enrolled later at Harvard, though he never earned a formal degree. In 1895, Frost married Elinor Miriam White, who became a major inspiration in his poetry until her death in 1938. In 1900 he and her wife moved to a farm in Derry, New Hampshire, which was purchased for him by his grandfather. He taught English at a private school, the Pinkerton Academy, from 1906 to 1911, and he taught English and psychology at a teacher’s college in Plymouth, New Hampshire, for a year in 1911–12.

Biography of William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare was born on April 23, 1564, in Stratford-upon-Avon, England. He was born to John Shakespeare and Mary Arden, a glover/leather merchant and local land heiress, respectively. He was baptized in the parish church of Stratford-upon-Avon in Warwickshire on the 26th of April. Shakespeare's father owned many houses in Stratford around the time of Shakespeare's birth, so the exact location of his birth cannot be known for sure (Mabillard 7). William, according to the church register, was the third of eight children the Shakespeare household—three of whom died in childhood. John Shakespeare had a remarkable run of success as a merchant, and later as an alderman and high bailiff of Stratford, during William's early childhood. His fortunes declined, however, in the 1570s.
William allegedly attended the free grammar school in stratford, where he attained the majority of his sparse education. While there are no records extant to prove this claim, Shakespeare's knowledge of Latin and Classical Greek would tend to support this theory.

Biography of William Blake

William Blake
William Blake was born on November 28, 1757 in London, the third of five children. His father James was a hosier, and could only afford to give William enough schooling to learn the basics of reading and writing, though for a short time he was able to attend a drawing school run by Henry Par. William worked in his father's shop until his talent for drawing became so obvious that he was apprenticed to engraver James Basire at age 14. He finished his apprenticeship at age 21, and set out to make his living as an engraver.
Blake married Catherine Boucher at age 25, and she worked with him on most of his artistic creations. Together they published a book of Blake's poems and drawings called Songs of Innocence. Blake engraved the words and pictures on copper plates (a method he claimed he received in a dream), and Catherine colored the plates and bound the books. Songs of Innocence sold slowly during Blake's lifetime, indeed Blake struggled close to poverty for much of his life.

Biography of John Milton

John Milton
John Milton was born on December 9, 1608, in London, as the second child of John and Sara (neƩ Jeffrey). John Milton Sr. worked as a scrivener, a legal secretary whose duties included preparation and notarization of documents , as well as real estate transactions and moneylending. Milton's father was also a composer of church music, and Milton himself experienced a lifelong delight in music. The family's financial prosperity afforded Milton to be taught classical languages, first by private tutors at home, followed by entrance to St. Paul's School at age twelve, in 1620.
In 1625, Milton was admitted to Christ's College, Cambridge. During his temporary return to London, Milton attended plays, and perhaps began his first forays into poetry. Then he returned to Cambridge. Life at Cambridge was still not easy on Milton; he felt he was disliked by many of his fellow students and he was dissatisfied with the curriculum.

Biography of Alexander Pope

Alexander pope
Alexander Pope was the leading English poet of the early 18th century, famous for his works An Essay on Criticism and The Rape of the Lock. He was a major critic and satirist. In the 1700s, he was so popular that this era was once known as the "Age of Pope."
Alexander Pope was born on May 21, 1688 into a Roman Catholic family in London. At that time Roman Catholics were not able to live where they wished, practise their religion openly, or attend certain schools. As a result, Pope's formal education was often interrupted and of poor quality, but despite this, he learned by teaching himself Latin, Greek, French and Italian. His father was a cloth merchant living in the City (a part of London). in Alexander's childhood, the Pope family was forced to relocate to be in compliance with a statute forbidding Catholics from living within ten miles of London or Westminster. They moved to Binfield (Berkshire).