Lord Alfred Tennyson, Tennyson.
Come on, maid.
Come down, oh, maid, from the height beyond the mountain:
What makes you happy to live at high altitude (shepherd's life),
Tall, cold, brilliant hills?
But stop moving, let it be close to God, and then stop.
Slip 1, the sun slams loose,
Sitting behind the stars, sparkling spire;
Come on, for the valley of love, come on,
Love is a valley, you have come.
Find the threshold of his happiness, he said,
Or holding hands with a lot of corn,
Red or purple bucket with spikes,
Or vines like foxes, and I don't care about walking.
Death and this morning's silver horn,
Or wither. You trapped him in the valley of the White House,
I didn't find the ice he dropped,
This is in the crooked gully waterfall.
The torrent rolled out of the dark door;
However, let your whitewater dance fall.
Find him in the valley; Let nature
Thin householder bark, only leave.
There are slopes and cracks on the wall frame.
The hookah of its 1000 wreath,
It's like a broken purpose wasted in the air:
So you can't waste it, but now, all the valleys.
Waiting for you; Sky blue column fireplace
If your child calls, I will.
Your shepherd's pipe, every sound is sweet,
Your voice is sweet, but every voice is sweet;
Countless streams hastily blocked the lawn,
Pigeons groan in the ancient land management department,
There are countless bees.