That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which on the shaft that made him die Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
WALLER: _To a Lady Singing a Song of his Composing._
That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which on the shaft that made him die Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
WALLER: _To a Lady Singing a Song of his Composing._