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!
Celia
Alexander Pope
(2)
Poem topics: fate, heart, summer, winter, ancient, pretty, live, devotion, face, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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