Like yonder swallow, I would soar away,
Above the sea, far from this buzzing mart ;
But how can I? A cruel, little fay
Plas ettered with three golden threads my
heart.
Tier honeyed tongue the one ; her eyes the other ;
The third her lips ; and that completes her art.
No fruits from other gardens can I gather.
For she has tied with golden threads my heart.
O, how I would asunder rend my chain.
And from the tears and pangs of love depart ;
Ah. no! 'tis better that I die in pain
Than break the golden threads of my poor
heart.