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— Tang Yanqian Flirting with vernal breeze, the willow sways so tender. Who in the world can vie with it but the waist slender? It is planted at random by the riverside. How many maids fond of its leaves of hunger died?
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— Wang Jian Waiting for him alone Where the river goes by, She turns into a stone Gazing with longing eye. Atop the hill from day to day come wind and rain; The stone should speak to see her husband come again.