IV.

How hot it was! Across the white-hot wall

Pale olives stretch towards the blazing street;

You broke a branch, you never spoke at all,

But gave it me to fan with in the heat;

You gave it me without a sign or word,

And yet, my love, I think you knew I heard.

You gave it me without a word or sign:

Under the olives first I called you mine.

Lyrics selected from the works of A. Mary F. Robinson · 第 27 / 81 题