Maxioms by Thomas Haynes Bayly
The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.
The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.
Why don't the men propose, mamma?
Why don't the men propose?
Why don't the men propose, mamma?
Why don't the men propose?
Fly away, pretty moth, to the shade
Of the leaf where you slumbered all day;
Be content read more
Fly away, pretty moth, to the shade
Of the leaf where you slumbered all day;
Be content with the moon and the stars, pretty moth,
And make use of your wings while you may.
. . . .
But tho' dreams of delight may have dazzled you quite,
They at last found it dangerous play;
Many things in this world that look bright, pretty moth,
Only dazzle to lead us astray.
'Tis godlike to have power, but not to kill.
'Tis godlike to have power, but not to kill.
Gayly the troubadour
Touched his guitar.
Gayly the troubadour
Touched his guitar.
