Of t years, the dear and wished-for years,

        ho eae in a gracious hand appears

        to bear a gift for mortals, old or young:

        And, as I mused it in ique tongue,

        I saears,

        t, sad years, the melancholy years,

        turns had flung

        A sraightway I was ware,

        So weeping, ic Shape did move

        Behe hair:

        And a voice said in mastery, wrove,--

        Guess nohere,

        t Deat Love.

        I t once us had sung

        Of t years, the dear and wished-for years,

        ho eae in a gracious hand appears

        to bear a gift for mortals, old or young;

        And, as I mused it in ique tongue,

        I saears,

        t, sad years, the melancholy years,

        turns had flung

        A sraightaway I was ware,

        So weeping, ic Shape did move

        Behe hair;

        And a voice said in mastery, wrove,--

        Guess ;/i> I said, But, there,

        t;i>Not Deat Love.

        said,--himself, beside

        tening ! and replied

        One of us . . . t he curse

        So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce

        My sig if I had died,

        ts, placed there, would have signified

        Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse

        From God thers, O my friend !

        Men could not part us heir worldly jars,

        Nor tempests bend;

        Our ou-bars:

        And,    the end,

        e s voer for tars.

        So II: But Only trong>

        But only three in all Gods universe

        hou has said,--himself, beside

        tening! and replied

        One of us...t he curse

        So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce

        My sig if I had died,

        ts, placed there, would have signified

        Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse

        From God thers, O my friend!

        Men could not part us heir worldly jars,

        Nor tempests bend;

        Our ou-bars:

        And,    the end,

        e s voer for tars.

        Unlike are we, unlike, O princely    !

        Unlike our uses and our destinies.

        Our ministering two angels look surprise

        On one anotrike at

        t

        A guest for queens to social pageantries,

        iter eyes

        tears even    make mio play t

        Of c    to do

        ittice-lig me,

        A poor, tired, hrough

        tree ?

        the dew,--

        A dig these agree.

        Unlike are we, unlike, O princely !

        Unlike our uses and our destinies.

        Our ministering two angels look surprise

        On one anotrike at

        t

        A guest for queens to social pageantries,

        iter eyes

        tears even    make mio play t

        Of c    to do

        ittice-lig me,

        A poor, tired, hrough

        tree?

        the dew--

        A dig these agree.

        t to some palace-floor,

        Most gracious singer of high poems ! where

        ting, from the care

        Of c lips for more.

        And dost t tcoo poor

        For    think and bear

        to let thy music drop here unaware

        In folds of golden fulness at my door ?

        Look up a broken in,

        ts and os builders in the roof !

        My cricket c thy mandolin.

        her proof

        Of desolation ! thin

        t    sing . . . alone, aloof

        t to some palace-floor,

        Most gracious singer of high poems! where

        ting, from the care

        Of c lips for more.

        And dost t tcoo poor

        For    think and bear

        to let thy music drip here unaware

        In folds of golden fulness at my door?

        Look up a broken in,

        ts and os builders in the roof!

        My cricket c thy mandolin.

        her proof

        Of desolation! thin

        t    sing...alone, aloof.

        I lift my    up solemnly,

        As ora her sepulchral urn,

        And, looking in turn

        t t. Behold and see

        a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

        And he red wild sparkles dimly burn

        t in s

        Could tread t to darkness utterly,

        It mig if instead

        t beside me for to blow

        t up, . . . thine head,

        O my Beloved,    shee so,

        t none of all the fires shall scord shred

        tand farthen ! go.

        I lift my    up solemnly,

        As ora her sepulchral urn,

        And, looking in turn

        t t. Behold and see

        a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

        And he red wild sparkles dimly burn

        t in s

        Could tread t to darkness utterly,

        It mig if instead

        t beside me for to blow

        t up,...thine head,

        O my Belovèd,    shee so,

        t none of all the fires shall scord shred

        tand farthen! go.
请记住本书首发域名：966xs.com。966小说手机版阅读网址：wap.966xs.com