Poem by Alexander Pope

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. Verses Left by Mr. Pope
2. The Three Gentle Shepherds
3. Prayer of St. Francis Xavier
4. In Imitation of Chaucer
5. Chorus of Youths and Virgins

Lola Ridge Celia ("Cherry, cherry")

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