Alexander Pope

Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
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Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low sun had lengthened every shade.

And each blasphemer quite escape the rod,
Because the insult's not on man, but God?

And each blasphemer quite escape the rod,
Because the insult's not on man, but God?

Round broken columns clasping ivy twin'd.

Round broken columns clasping ivy twin'd.

Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.

Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.

Thee too, my Paridel! she mark'd thee there,
Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair,
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Thee too, my Paridel! she mark'd thee there,
Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair,
And heard thy everlasting yarn confess
The Pains and Penalties of Idleness.