Ah, we weary so with kisses,

Weary so with your caresses,

As the hooded hawk returning

To its tinkling bells and jesses,

So we flutter to the prison

Of your arms, in meek surrender,

And we grieve when you are angry,

And we smile when you are tender,

But our souls, untamed, are soaring

Where no blandishments can teach them,

Free our hearts, and free our spirits,

Where your hands can never reach them.