And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
Thomas MooreCome o'er the sea, Maiden with me, Mine through the sunshine, storms and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes.
Thomas MooreAll that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.
Thomas Moore