Shelley, there is a word that is often profaned. I won't desecrate it again. There is a feeling of being hypocritically despised. You won't despise it anymore. Let you despise it; There is a hope that is too desperate; A hope is too much like despair, so why beware! Your compassion for others' caution is unparalleled, and your compassion warms my heart even more. Not the other one. I can't give you what people say, I can't give you what people say: but I don't know if you can accept the worship of this heart, but the worship raised by this heart won't even refuse from heaven. Heaven can't refuse, like a moth pouncing on the stars, my mother's longing for the stars, like the pursuit of dawn in the dark. For tomorrow's night, the passion for the distance has jumped out of human suffering! Away from our sadness. Go-go? Shelley Shelley's famous love poem is too often profaned? For me, blaspheming it, a kind of contempt with too false feelings, is dismissive of you; A hope is too like despair for another person, too like despair for prudence, and pity for you is more precious than another person. I can't give people so-called love: but can you accept the worship that is refreshing and irresistible to heaven, as well as the moth's longing for the stars, the night's longing for the dawn, and the dedication to things far away from our sadness?

There is a word that is often profaned, and I won't profane it again. There is a feeling that is despised by mistakes, and you won't despise it again. There is a hope that is too desperate; Why be alert! Your compassion is incomparable and warms my heart. I can't give you what people call love, but I want to know if you can accept this heart's admiration for you, even God won't refuse it. Like a moth to the stars, like the night chasing the dawn. This desire has jumped out of human suffering!