When Alexander Pope strolled in the city
Strict was the glint of pearl and ''old sedans.
Ladies leaned out more out of fear than pity
For Pope's tight back was rather a goat's than man's
Often one thinks the urn should have more bones
Than skeletons provide for speedy dust,
The urn gets hollow, cobwebs brittle as stones
Weave to the funeral shell a frivolous rust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem