The Fowler
A WILD bird filled the morning air
With dewy-hearted song;
I took it in a golden snare
Of meshes close and strong.
But where is now the song I heard?
For all my cunning art,
I who would house a singing bird
Have caged a broken heart.
With dewy-hearted song;
I took it in a golden snare
Of meshes close and strong.
But where is now the song I heard?
For all my cunning art,
I who would house a singing bird
Have caged a broken heart.
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