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by Gerard Manley Hopkins
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went! And more must, in yet longer light's delay. With witness I speak this. But where I say Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament1 Is cries countless2, cries like dead letters sent To dearest him that lives alas3! away. I am gall4, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me; Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse. Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough5 sours. I see The lost are like this, and their scourge6 to be As I am mine, their sweating selves, but worse. 点击收听单词发音
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