本帖最后由 雨荷风 于 2015-10-7 14:32 编辑
Alas the day, when embossed flora of the uncouth forestry
Shed in the shade; when bees bumble away;
When tears not tears, love not love,
When cry is echoed back monotonously;
When pages of history leaf over every slender finger;
When labour is lost, remorse back to regain
When love is cursed, hatred on the mend;
Against your settled gravity and advised audit,
I look up in my wistful eye to the sky azure.
The hours stand aloof in the nook cloistered, as an unpenetrating nut
Against wind and society; this life goes on.
To muse myself, is nothing but to endure this tedious life.
I turn to books, running brooks, music, traveling for succor and repose.
Exempted from mutual haunt, now I come back, back alone.
Forswear me with your hard thoughts
And leave poor me forlorn here to mumble our loving oaths.
Clothe me with limpid thoughts and fine delicacy,
Only to go with wind, disappear as you perished
From the main stream of this vile world.
Whither you dwelt, with whom, and how?
Richard Lee
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