可以找本子的软件:再来一个问题，谢谢大家了。（待续

这是有首很好的诗！
One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdaind
For thee to disdain it；
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.
I can not give what men call love:
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heavens reject not,
And the desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.

There is a word to being usually besmirch by person
I will not besmirch again
Have a kind of affection is pretended 鄙 by the person thin
You can't come again 鄙 , either thin.
Have a kind of hope too despair;
Add again to guard against not necessary!
You of feeling no man of[with] commiseration can compare,
The warmth wears my heart.
I can't give you people the love call,
But don't know you can accept
The feeling that this heart admires you,
Even the God can't refuse, either.
The moth as if makes a pounce upon stars,
Again if the dark night pursues dawn.
The feeling of this kind of love,
Jumped the sad plight of the human life already!
Romantic state of mind