The Broken Wing/Caprice

For works with similar titles, see Caprice.

​Caprice

You held a wild-flower in your finger-tips,
Idly you pressed it to indifferent lips,
Idly you tore its crimson leaves apart, . .
Alas! it was my heart.

You held a wine-cup in your finger-tips,
Lightly you raised it to indifferent lips.
Lightly you drank and flung away the bowl . . .
Alas! it was my soul.

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