With flowers twined about his hair,
A countenance that knew not care.
The flow'rs waved in careless joy
As they nodded and danced o'er the head of the boy.
Lo! he picked the birds up one by one
And he killed them in his wanton fun,
So I cried to him: "They're the birds of love
That abide in the jewelled tree above,
And the tree and the birds are the jewels of love."
But the youth of the morn with laughter cried: