Maxioms by Alexander Pope
Where London's column, pointing at the skies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies.
Where London's column, pointing at the skies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies.
So obliging that he ne'er obliged.
So obliging that he ne'er obliged.
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe,
That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe,
That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.
What dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs,
What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things.
What dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs,
What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things.
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?
