The bird let loose in Eastern skies,
Returning fondly home,
Neer stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam;
But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way. – Thomas Moore
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touchd by the thorns. – Thomas Moore
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