The heart asks pleasure first,And then, excuse from pain;And then, those little anodynesThat deaden suffering;And then, to go to sleep;And then, if it should beThe will of its Inquisitor,The liberty to die.
编辑：chaxungu时间：2022-10-13 02:24:22分类：英语诗歌
上一篇：A wounded deer leaps highest
下一篇：ALMOST!