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.
