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<strong>IV</strong>Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems ! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watg up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this houses latch t<kbd>99lib?</kbd>oo poor
For hand of thine ? and <u>九九藏书</u>st thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds<var>藏书网</var> of golden fulness at my door ?
Look up ahe casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof !
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation ! there s a voice wit<a>.99lib.</a>hin
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong><s>９９lｉｂ.</s>
百度搜索 SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE AND OTHER LOVE POEMS 天涯 或 SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE AND OTHER LOVE POEMS 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.