XLVII.

She also had a twilight tinge of "Blue,"

Could write rhymes, and compose more than she wrote,

Made epigrams occasionally too

Upon her friends, as everybody ought.

But still from that sublimer azure hue,[787]So much the present dye, she was remote;

Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet,

And what was worse, was not ashamed to show it.

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