How Alexander Pope Might Have Expressed Himself

Now all the Zephyrs sound the call to Spring,
As o’er the heaven’s ethereal plain they wing;
Now all the Graces trip with stately mien
The wide enameled lawns’ new-tinted green.
The radiant orb of Heaven blazes hot,
And pierces every shady forest grot;
While dwellers of the glades relax their throats,
To trill in feathered rivalry their notes;
Now every cloud weeps crystal tears of rain
For Man’s proud foot to spurn in mire again.

Thus Nature’s art is ever lavish spent
To make the earth Man’s chiefest ornament:
So vilest Man may revel in the sight,
And learn the truth, What must be, must be right.