Epistle To Mrs Teresa Blount.[On Her Leaving The Town After The Coronation] poem – Alexander Pope poems | Poetry Monster

A poem by Alexander Pope (1688-1744)

As some fond virgin, whom her mother’s care

Drags from the town to wholesome country air,

Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,

And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;

From the dear man unwilling she must sever,

Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever:

Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,

Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew;

Not that their pleasures caused her discontent,

She sigh’d not that they staid, but that she went.

She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks,

Old-fashion’d halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks:

She went from opera, park, assembly, play,

To morning-walks, and prayers three hours a-day:

To part her time ‘twixt reading and bohea,

To muse, and spill her solitary tea;

Or o’er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,

Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon;

Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,

Hum half a tune, tell stories to the ‘squire;

Up to her godly garret after seven,

There starve and pray, for that’s the way to heaven.

Some ‘squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;

Whose game is whist, whose treat, a toast in sack;

Who visits with a gun, presents you birds,

Then gives a smacking buss, and cries–No words!

Or with his hound comes hallooing from the stable,

Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table;

Whose laughs are hearty, though his jests are coarse,

And loves you best of all things–but his horse.

In some fair evening, on your elbow laid,

You dream of triumphs in the rural shade;

In pensive thought recall the fancied scene,

See coronations rise on every green;

Before you pass the imaginary sights

Of lords, and earls, and dukes, and garter’d knights,

While the spread fan o’ershades your closing eyes;

Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies.

Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,

And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls!

So when your slave, at some dear idle time,

(Not plagued with headaches, or the want of rhyme)

Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew,

And while he seems to study, thinks of you;

Just when his fancy paints your sprightly eyes,

Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,

Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,

Streets, chairs, and coxcombs rush upon my sight;

Vex’d to be still in town, I knit my brow,

Look sour, and hum a tune, as you do now.

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Poems in English 

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• Sonnet 131: Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 130: My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 12: When I do count the clock that tells the time by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 129: Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• The Eolian Harp by Samuel Taylor Coleridge by Fledermaus
• Sonnet 32: If thou survive my well-contented day by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 31: Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 30: When to the sessions of sweet silent thought by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 2: When forty winters shall besiege thy brow by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 29: When in disgrace with Fortune and men’s eyes by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 28: How can I then return in happy plight by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 27: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 26: Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 25: Let those who are in favour with their stars by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 24: Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 23: As an unperfect actor on the stage by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 22: My glass shall not persuade me I am old by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 21: So is it not with me as with that muse by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

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