4、第 4 章 ...
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What It Was
It seemed a bell would always swing
Above a field of endless spring,
The path unwound like hopeful thread,
And every word I meant was said.
But now the bell has gone to rust,
The field is ash, the thread is dust,
And life, with its indifferent hand,
Has trampled dreams into the sand.
The shape is lost, the colors bleed,
A different book from what I’d read,
A silent, unforgiving stream…
Has drowned the dream I dared to dream.
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