FOOLISH prater, what dost thou 
So early at my window do? 
Cruel bird, thou'st ta'en away 
A dream out of my arms to-day; 
A dream that ne'er must equall'd be 
By all that waking eyes may see. 
Thou this damage to repair 
Nothing half so sweet and fair, 
Nothing half so good, canst bring, 
Tho' men say thou bring'st the Spring.