The Burned Child

Love has had his way with me

This my heart is torn and maimed

Since he took his play with me

Cruel well the bow-boy aimed



Shot, and saw the feathered shaft

Dripping bright and bitter red

He that shrugged his wings and laughed

Better had he left me dead



Sweet, why do you plead me, then

Who have bled so sore of that?

Could I bear it once again?

Drop a hat, dear, drop a hat!