Pope and the love of magic

I did it! I bought the Globe edition of the poetical works of Alexander Pope. I hope that it can be as enchanting as my new record of Fotheringay, where the voice of Sandy Denny sweeps me away into dreams of endless horizons.

But why are these books so difficult? He must be a genius, and the composer of this edition must be a wizzard. Because my eyes hurt and my brain thumps, after the reading of the first lines.
I am not a classical scolar, not and educated mind. This must be poetry of the cultural royalty of the past.
But i wont give up...! I will give you the first line a poem of the artist when he was 16.

Spring, the first pastoral

First in these fields, I try the sylvan strains
Nor blush to sport on Windsor's blissful plains:
Fair Thames, flow gently from thy sacred spring
While on thy banks Sicilian Muses Sing;
Let vernal airs thro' trembling osiers play,
And Albion's cliffs resound the rulal lay.
You, that too wise for pride, too good for pow'r,
Enjoy the glory to be great no more

I would rather say...
O great river, O great and fair land
give me power to see and understand
Pope's poetry, his wit and reasons
That i can dream in this whitest of all white seasons