Among red leaves and green mountains, white clouds fly |
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Of all the famous Hangchou sights |
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There was no reason to expect sadness |
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The Mountain pavilion is silent — few people visit me here |
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Of my flesh and blood, only one remains |
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I planned to get drunk to ease my sadness |
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Pines and cedars, a hundred feet of green, clinging to the earth |
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One morning I call for a sedan-chair man |
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I've given up poetry — mdash;I have no new manuscripts |
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The Wind sighs in the reeds — autumn on the rustic shore |
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