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<strong>Prisohe</strong><bdo>九九藏书</bdo>I t the dismal time by months and years
Since last I felt the green sward under foot,
And the great bre<details></details>ath of all things summer-
Met mine upon my lips. h appears
As strao me as dreams of distant spheres
Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at. Natures lute
Sounds on, behind this door so closely shut,
A strange wild music to the prisoners ears,
Dilated by the distaill the brain
Grows dim with fancies which it feels too
While ever, with a visio<u>.99lib.</u>nary pain,
Pa<cite></cite>st the precluded senses, sweep and Rhine
Streams, forests, glades, and many a golden train
Of sunlit hills transfigured to Divine.
<strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong><s>九九藏书</s>
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