The Dying Adrian To His Soul
Poor, little, pretty, fluttering thing, Must we no longer live together? And dost thou prune thy trembling wing, To take thy flight thou know'st not whither? Thy humorous vein, thy pleasing folly, Lies all neglected, all forgot: And pensive, wavering, melancholy, Thou dread'st and hop'st thou know'st not what.
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"Poor, little, pretty, fluttering thing,..."
"The Dying Adrian To His Soul" is a quintessential example of Matthew Prior's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...