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	Jonathan Wells 
	For Hercules, the thirteenth labor, 
	        is allowing the mortal lovers to go 
	back to their separate beds unreconciled, 
	        to leave well enough alone, 
	                to let their oaths uncouple 
	        from their stars, to abandon the 
	                            strange planets 
	            to the idiosyncrasies of their orbits. 
	        along an ordinary shore where all waves 
	reach their breaking point, some staring 
	        with demonic eyes 
	                        while others lap 
	the beach rhapsodically. 
	        Recovering, he asks 
	        the golden apples of the nymphs. 
	                    He prays for 
	a mind that would leave the lovers 
	                    alone with their distrust. 
	        But that is another fantasy 
	of self-possession, of holding himself in check, 
	                    letting love be love; love refused, or 
	        breathing lightly or unloved 
	staccato, strike the night and he is 
	                    certain that turning away 
	        is his one impossible labor. 点击  收听单词发音 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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