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!
More verses by Alexander Pope
- You Know Where You Did Despise
- Epistle To Dr. Arbuthnot
- On A Certain Lady At Court
- The Rape Of The Lock: Canto 1
- Universal Prayer