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by Robert Lowell My Dolphin, you only guide me by surprise, a captive as Racine, the man of craft, drawn1 through his maze2 of iron composition by the incomparable wandering voice of Phèdre. When I was troubled in mind, you made for my body caught in its hangman's-knot of sinking lines, the glassy bowing and scraping of my will. . . . I have sat and listened to too many words of the collaborating3 muse4, and plotted perhaps too freely with my life, not avoiding injury to others, not avoiding injury to myself—— to ask compassion6 . . . this book, half fiction, an eelnet made by man for the eel5 fighting my eyes have seen what my hand did. 点击收听单词发音
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