Full Many A Sharp, Sad, Unexpected Thorn Finds Room To Wound Life'S Lacerated Flower, Which Subtle Fate, To Every Mortal Born, Guides Unprevented In An Early Hour. Ah, Cruel Thorns, Too Soon I Felt Your Power; Your Throbbing Shoots Of Never-Ceasing Pain Hope'S Blossoms In Their Bud Did Long Devour, And Left Continued My Sad Eyes To Strain On Wilder'D Spots Chok'D Up With Sorrow'S Weeds, Alas, That's Shaken But Too Many Seeds To Leave Me Room For Hopes To Bud Again. But Fate May Torture, While It Is Decreed, Where All My Hope'S Unblighted Blooms Remain, That Heaven'S Recompense Shall This Succeed.