Mr Pope

When Alexander Pope strolled in the

Strict was the glint of pearl and ''old sedans.

Ladies leaned out more out of fear than

For Pope's tight back was rather a goat's than

Often one thinks the urn should have more

Than skeletons provide for speedy dust,

The urn gets hollow, cobwebs brittle as

Weave to the funeral shell a frivolous rust.

And he who dribbled couplets like a

Coiled to a lithe precision in the

Is missing.

The jar is empty; you may

It only to find that Mr.

Pope is gone.

What requisitions of a

Prompted the wit and rage between his

One cannot say.

Around a crooked treeA moral climbs whose name should be a wreath.