When Alexander Pope strolled in the city br Strict was the glint of pearl and ''old sedans. br Ladies leaned out more out of fear than pity br For Pope's tight back was rather a goat's than man's br br Often one thinks the urn should have more bones br Than skeletons provide for speedy dust, br The urn gets hollow, cobwebs brittle as stones br Weave to the funeral shell a frivolous rust. br br And he who dribbled couplets like a snake br Coiled to a lithe precision in the sun br Is missing. The jar is empty; you may break br It only to find that Mr. Pope is gone. br br What requisitions of a verity br Prompted the wit and rage between his teeth br One cannot say. Around a crooked tree br A moral climbs whose name should be a wreath.