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: 
