Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.
John MiltonHow soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
John MiltonHung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces.
John MiltonHow soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
John Milton