k***y
发帖数: 217 | 1 M鏡GAR僒, 噐e you gr抏ving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Le噕es, l択e the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
oh! 噑 the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you w抣l weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
S梤row's spr抧gs 噐e the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It 抯 the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for. |
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