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作曲 : Novemthree |
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Beside the brook |
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Toward the willows, |
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During these days |
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So many yellow flowers have opened |
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Their eyes into gold. |
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I have long since lost my innocence, yet a memory |
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Touches my depth, |
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the golden hours of morning, and gazes |
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Brilliantly upon me out of the eyes of flowers. |
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I was going to pick flowers; |
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Now I leave them all standing |
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And walk home, an old man. |
