LXII Never, I ween, did swimmer, In such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood Safe to the landing place： But his limbs were borne up bravely By the brave heart within, And our good father Tiber Bare bravely up his chin.
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A Lay Made About the Year Of The City (62)
编辑：chaxungu时间：2022-10-13 02:51:12分类：英语诗歌