How sweet I roam’d from field to field,
And tasted all the summer’s pride,
‘Till I the Prince of Love beheld,
Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He shew’d me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me thro’ his gardens fair,
Where all his golden pleasures grow,

With sweet May-dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fir’d my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing
And mocks my loss of liberty.


 = Genevieve Perdue