To break its links so soon.

Fly not yet.

When did morning ever break,

And find such beaming eyes awake?

Fly not yet.

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers

Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.

Oh think not my Spirits are always as light.

Rich and rare were the gems she wore,

And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore.