The maid who first awoke the flame,
That gave to both a mutual claim,
As fresh and frail as flowers!—
And all those dearest buds of bloom,
That simply sought on earth a tomb,
From birth to death, with rapid doom,
A bird-flight winged for fate:
How thick the shafts, how sure the aim!
What other passion wouldst thou tame,
O! Time, within this heart of flame,