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O cloud-pale eyelids1， dream-dimmed eyes，
The poets labouring all their days To build a perfect beauty in rhyme Are overthrown2 by a woman‘s gaze And by the unlabouring brood of the skies： And therefore my heart will bow， when dew Is dropping sleep， until God burn time， Before the unlabouring stars and you. 点击  收听单词发音
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