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Alexander Pope - Weeping
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While Celia`s Tears make sorrow bright,
Proud Grief sits swelling in her eyes;
The Sun, next those the fairest light,
Thus from the Ocean first did rise:
And thus thro` Mists we see the Sun, 
Which else we durst not gaze upon. 

These silver drops, like morning dew,
Foretell the fervour of the day:
So from one Cloud soft show`rs we view,
And blasting lightnings burst away.
The Stars that fall from Celia`s eye
Declare our Doom in drawing nigh.

The Baby in that sunny Sphere
So like a Phaeton appears,
That Heav`n, the threaten`d World to spare,
Thought fit to drown him in her tears;
Else might th` ambitious Nymph aspire,
To set, like him, Heav`n too on fire.
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