Red lips are not so red As the stained stones kissed by the English dead Kindness of wooed and wooer Seems shame to their love pure O Love your eyes lose lute When I behold eyes blinded in my stead
Your slender attitude Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed Polling and rolling there Where God seems not to care Till the fierce Love they bear Cramps them in death's extreme decrpitude
Your woece sings not so soft Though even as wind murmuring though raftered loft Your dear voice is not dear Gentle and evening clear As theirs whom none now hear Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed
Heart you were never hot Nor large nor full like hearts made great with shot Ahd thouth your hand be pale Paler are all which trail Your cross throuth flame and hail Weep you may weep for may touch them not R G
住戶編號:1970123
檢舉原因
心情: 
