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. Lines on Curll
2. To Mrs. M. B. on Her Birthday
3. Verses Left by Mr. Pope
4. On Mr. Gay
5. Prayer of St. Francis Xavier

Lola Ridge Celia ("Cherry, cherry")

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