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When the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide;
When an immortal1 passion breathes in mortal clay; Our hearts endure the scourge2, the plaited thorns, the way Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side, The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kedron stream; We will bend down and loosen our hair over you, That it may drop faint perfume, and be heavy with dew, Lilies of death-pale hope, roses of passionate3 dream. 点击收听单词发音
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