| This world— / no road that takes us out of it |
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| We hearing them |
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| Spring: Written at the Lake |
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| When spring comes, / this world once more |
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| As evening comes, / autumn wind from the meadows |
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| Where the water |
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| Cuckoo, what are you |
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| While I gaze far off |
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| The Glowing moon |
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| Will someone / at the scent of orange blossom |
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