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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