XLIV
Life is a flame that flickers in the wind,
A bird that crouches in the fowler's net—
Nor may between her flutterings forget
That hour the dreams of youth were unconfined.
Life is a flame that flickers in the wind,
A bird that crouches in the fowler's net—
Nor may between her flutterings forget
That hour the dreams of youth were unconfined.