Alexander Pope (Àëåêñàíäð Ïîóï)

Celia

Celia, we know, is sixty-five,
Yet Celia's face is seventeen;
Thus winter in her breast must live,
While summer in her face is seen.

How cruel Celia's fate, who hence
Our heart's devotion cannot try;
Too pretty for our reverence,
Too ancient for our gallantry! 

1. Epistle to Miss Blount, On Her Leaving the Town, After the Coronation
2. Phyrne
3. On His Grotto at Twickenham
4. Ode on St. Cecilia's Day
5. Verses Left by Mr. Pope

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