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. On Certain Ladies
2. Universal Prayer
3. On the Countess of Burlington Cutting Paper
4. On Seeing the Ladies Crux-Easton Walk in the Woods by the Grotto
5. Chorus of Youths and Virgins

Lola Ridge Celia ("Cherry, cherry")

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