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— Li Qi At dawn I hear the roamer’s farewell song; Last night a thin frost crossed the river long. Are you not grieved to hear the wild geese cry? Can you bear clouds and mountains passing by? Yellow leaves hasten the cold to come near. Could washerwomen’s song reach their men’s ear? Don’t…
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— Li Qi In the eighth moon the weed cold grows, The autumn waves surge with white crest. The mast shivers as north wind blows; Why should my guest go to the west? The rain no longer drizzles on hilltop; Out of the door rises the evening tide. At night along the beach my…