"The boy may wrestle, when Night--working Fancy steals him to the arms Of nymph oft wish'd awake, and, 'mid the rage Of the soft tumult, ev'ry turgid cell Spontaneous disembogues its lucid store, Bland and of azure tinct."

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Source : John Armstrong, “The Oeconomy Of Love”

John Armstrong

#Boys Quotes #Night Quotes #Cells Quotes