The Poet And The Bird
Said a people to a poet--- Go out from among us straightway!
While we are thinkihly things, thou si of divine.
Theres a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting ieways
Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!
The poet went out weeping---the nightingale ceased ting;
Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy sweetness done?
I ot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting,
Whose highest harmony includes the lowest under sun.
The poet went out weeping,---and died abroad, bereft there---
The bird flew to his grave and died, amid a thousand wails:---
And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there
Was only of the poets song, and not the nightingales.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(ò﹏ò)
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谢谢!!!