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— Zheng Gu The vernal breeze has brightened your color so fine; You stir my mind to write a verse before good wine. With rain impearled on you, more beautiful you grow; You’re all the more bewitching when about to blow. The fair forgets to powder her face before you; The painter hesitates to…
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— Wang Bo Soughing, the cool breeze blows; My wooded dell clean grows. It drives smoke off the rill, Rolls up mist over the hill, Leaves no trace when we part, And moves as if moved at heart. When sunset calms the scene, Hear the song of pines green.