安裝 Steam
登入
|
語言
簡體中文
日本語(日文)
한국어(韓文)
ไทย(泰文)
Български(保加利亞文)
Čeština(捷克文)
Dansk(丹麥文)
Deutsch(德文)
English(英文)
Español - España(西班牙文 - 西班牙)
Español - Latinoamérica(西班牙文 - 拉丁美洲)
Ελληνικά(希臘文)
Français(法文)
Italiano(義大利文)
Bahasa Indonesia(印尼語)
Magyar(匈牙利文)
Nederlands(荷蘭文)
Norsk(挪威文)
Polski(波蘭文)
Português(葡萄牙文 - 葡萄牙)
Português - Brasil(葡萄牙文 - 巴西)
Română(羅馬尼亞文)
Русский(俄文)
Suomi(芬蘭文)
Svenska(瑞典文)
Türkçe(土耳其文)
tiếng Việt(越南文)
Українська(烏克蘭文)
回報翻譯問題
By Sir Thomas Wyatt
I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice.
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;
And nought I have, and all the world I season.
That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison
And holdeth me not—yet can I scape no wise—
Nor letteth me live nor die at my device,
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain.
I desire to perish, and yet I ask health.
I love another, and thus I hate myself.
I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain;
Likewise displeaseth me both life and death,
And my delight is causer of this strife.