While Celia's Tears make sorrow bright, <br />Proud Grief sits swelling in her eyes; <br />The Sun, next those the fairest light, <br />Thus from the Ocean first did rise: <br />And thus thro' Mists we see the Sun, <br />Which else we durst not gaze upon. <br /> <br />These silver drops, like morning dew, <br />Foretell the fervour of the day: <br />So from one Cloud soft show'rs we view, <br />And blasting lightnings burst away. <br />The Stars that fall from Celia's eye <br />Declare our Doom in drawing nigh. <br /> <br />The Baby in that sunny Sphere <br />So like a Phaeton appears, <br />That Heav'n, the threaten'd World to spare, <br />Thought fit to drown him in her tears; <br />Else might th' ambitious Nymph aspire, <br />To set, like him, Heav'n too on fire.<br /><br />Alexander Pope<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/weeping-4/
