The Prince. [Josephine Dodge

Daskam]

My heart it was a cup of gold That at his lip did long to lie, But he hath drunk the red wine down, And tossed the goblet by.

My heart it was a floating bird That through the world did wander free, But he hath locked it in a cage, And lost the silver key.

My heart it was a white, white rose That bloomed upon a broken bough, He did but wear it for an hour, And it is withered now.