I like this drawing, your fan is very talented ~~~ it's look exactly like you ~~~ thumbs up to the owner, you did it very well ~~~[赞]
It's evening at your side now and dinner time is approaching ~~~ wondering what's you gonna eat then ~~~[思考][馋嘴]
Have a good day our beloved star ~~~[羞嗒嗒][给你小心心]
It's evening at your side now and dinner time is approaching ~~~ wondering what's you gonna eat then ~~~[思考][馋嘴]
Have a good day our beloved star ~~~[羞嗒嗒][给你小心心]
Like the ghost of a dear friend dead
Is Time long past.
A tone which is now forever fled,
A hope which is now forever past,
A love so sweet it could not last,
Was Time long past.
There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:
And, was it sadness or delight,
Each day a shadow onward cast
Which made us wish it yet might last--
That Time long past.
There is regret, almost remorse,
For Time long past.
'Tis like a child's belovèd corse
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast
From Time long past.
~ Time Long Past - Percy Bysshe Shelley
Shared Via English Poems Android App. https://t.cn/AiHQzaU0
Is Time long past.
A tone which is now forever fled,
A hope which is now forever past,
A love so sweet it could not last,
Was Time long past.
There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:
And, was it sadness or delight,
Each day a shadow onward cast
Which made us wish it yet might last--
That Time long past.
There is regret, almost remorse,
For Time long past.
'Tis like a child's belovèd corse
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast
From Time long past.
~ Time Long Past - Percy Bysshe Shelley
Shared Via English Poems Android App. https://t.cn/AiHQzaU0
Music, When Soft Voices Die
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
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