Lyra Heroica
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Chapter 20 FROM PRISON

When Love with unconfinèd wings

Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;

When I lie tangled in her hair

And fettered to her eye,

The Gods that wanton in the air

Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses crowned,

            
            

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