Beauty has wings, and too hastily flies,And love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.
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Beauty has wings, and too hastily flies, and love, unrewarded, soon sickens and dies.
edward mooreIn squandering wealth was his peculiar art: Nothing went unrewarded, but desert. Beggared by fools, whom still he found too late: He had his jest, and they had his estate.
john dryden