love to hear the birds sing, water fall in your profile...

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 
And I again am strong.
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep,--
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong:
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng.
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep...

---W. Wordsworth...from Ode on Intimations of Immortality

所有跟帖： 

• 好诗， -戏雨飞鹰- ♀ (52 bytes) () 11/26/2010 postreply 06:47:38

• 我大学的英语诗歌课专门精读了这首，所以记忆犹新。我当时都把这首背下来了。 -falsetruth- ♀ (0 bytes) () 11/26/2010 postreply 10:54:00