Tis Pity, Ev'Ry Maiden Knows, Just As She Cools, Love Warmer Grows; But, If The Chill Be Too Severe, Trust Me, He'll Wither In A Tear. Thus Will The Spring-Flow'R Bud And Blow, Wrapp'D Round In Many A Fold Of Snow; But, If An Ice-Wind Pierce The Sky, 'Twill Drop Upon Its Bed, And Die!