Alexander Pope

Where stray ye, Muses! in what lawn or grove,
. . . .
In those fair fields read more

Where stray ye, Muses! in what lawn or grove,
. . . .
In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides,
Or else where Cam his winding vales divides?

Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.

Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.

Ye flowers that drop, forsaken by the spring,
Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing,
read more

Ye flowers that drop, forsaken by the spring,
Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing,
Ye trees that fade, when Autumn heats remove,
Say, is not absence death to those who love?

How shall I lose the sin yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest the offence?

How shall I lose the sin yet keep the sense,
And love th' offender, yet detest the offence?

Line after line my gushing eye o'erflow,
Led thro' a said variety of woe:
Now warm in read more

Line after line my gushing eye o'erflow,
Led thro' a said variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!