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— Zheng Gu Over warm misty grassland wing to wing you fly. As fair and good as pheasants in the mountain high. When Grass-green Lake is darkened in rain, you pass by; When flowers fall on the Imperial Tomb, you cry. A roamer would wet his sleeves with tears on heating your song; His…
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— Qian Qi Why won’t you stay on Southern River any more? Why leave its water clear, sand bright and mossy shore? You cannot bear the grief revealed in the moonlight By the Princess’ twenty-five strings, so you take flight.