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外链地址
http://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/91c1fa7a3b5dd6fdde5b3ebc1cf4dddf.mp3
点击复制Along the pane a crystal hand,
Writes fleeting runes none understand;
By melting made, by stillness taught;
The maple shadow underneath
Breathes fog and flame in woven sheath
Each stroke is brief yet pure as thought
No ink endures no tool remains
Yet beauty lasts where loss sustains
I trace the script with mortal heat
And watch it vanish clear complete;
To write on air is not in vain—
The act itself becomes the gain
By noon the glass forgets the sign
But peace records the hidden line;
For all that fades if loved will prove—
The coldest art is warmest move