Alexander Pope

Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat?
Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note.

Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat?
Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note.

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

The ruling passion, be it what it will,
The ruling passion conquers reason still.

The ruling passion, be it what it will,
The ruling passion conquers reason still.

Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly,
The light Militia of the lower sky.

Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly,
The light Militia of the lower sky.

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.