IV

The simply-cut memorial at my head

Perhaps may take

A Gothic form, and that above your bed

Be Greek in make;

No linking symbol show thereon for our tale’s sake.

V

And in the monotonous moils of strained, hard-run

Humanity,

The eternal tie which binds us twain in one

No eye will see

Stretching across the miles that sever you from me.

Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries, with Miscellaneous Pieces · 第 35 / 138 题