A garden was the primitive prison, till man, with Promethean felicity and boldness, luckily sinned himself out of it.
A garden was the primitive prison, till man, with Promethean felicity and boldness, luckily sinned himself out of it.
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive They sparkle still the right Promethean fire They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories