We loved - and it has all gone, somewhere...
We loved - and now our love is frozen,
and now it lies, one wing spread out, raising
its little feet - a dead sparrow on the damp
gravel... But we loved... we flew...
We loved - and now our love is frozen,
and now it lies, one wing spread out, raising
its little feet - a dead sparrow on the damp
gravel... But we loved... we flew...
( Vladimir Nabokov )
[ The Tragedy of Mister Morn ]
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