Alexander Pope

Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade,
Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade.
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Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade,
Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade.
Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise,
And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

Yet still a sad, good Christian at the heart.

Yet still a sad, good Christian at the heart.

Nature made every fop to plague his brother,
Just as one beauty mortifies another.

Nature made every fop to plague his brother,
Just as one beauty mortifies another.

In cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.

In cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.

What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools.

What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools.