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There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
One of the most amazing adventures of mine was this one my colleagues and I climbed the mountains which locates behind our offices. There were three strong dogs with us because we were worried to be looted by the local people, fortunately, we finished our adventure without encountering any dangers, we were very excited and happy about this journey. The following days, we visited other parts of this mountain and wanted to find some animals such as signal wolf, fox or pig, unfortunately, none of those wild animals were found by us. But we would never forget the beautiful scenes when we crossed the river, when we passed the bottom of the forest and some mysterious places in the deep mountain.