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— Chen Zi’ang In late spring grows the orchid good, How luxuriant are its leaves green! Alone it adorns empty wood With red blooms and violet stems lean. Slowly, slowly shortens the day; Rippling, rippling blows autumn breeze. By the year’s end it fades away. What has become of it fragrance, please?
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— Yang Juyuan The early spring presents to poets a fresh scene: The willow twigs half yellow and half tender green. When the Royal Garden’s covered with blooming flowers, Then it would be the visitors’ busiest hours.