VII.
All pleasure hath this property,
She woundeth those who have her most.
And, like unto the angry bee
Who hath her pleasant honey lost,
She flies away with nimble wing
And in our hearts doth leave her sting.
All pleasure hath this property,
She woundeth those who have her most.
And, like unto the angry bee
Who hath her pleasant honey lost,
She flies away with nimble wing
And in our hearts doth leave her sting.