Not yet had Nessus reached the other side, When we had put ourselves within a wood, That was not marked by any path whatever.
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Not foliage green, but of a dusky colour, Not branches smooth, but gnarled and intertangled, Not apple-trees were there, but thorns with poison.
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Such tangled thickets have not, nor so dense, Those savage wild beasts, that in hatred hold 'Twixt Cecina and Corneto the tilled places.
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第十三歌: 自杀者的树林
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