heart ''And wheTerpsichore, with iris-plume,
Bade o'er her lute her rosy fingers fly,
T was pleasure all-the fawns in mingled choirs,
Glanced on the willing nymphs their wanton fires,
Joy shook his glittering pinions as he flew;
The shout of rapture and the song of bliss,
The sportive titter and melting kiss,
All blended with the smile, that shone like early dew." heart
felicity_mills Community Member 
|
|
