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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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— Yuan Zhen Around the cottage like Tao’s autumn flowers grow; Along the hedge I stroll until the sun slants low. Not that I favor partially the chrysanthemum, But it is the last flower after which none will bloom.
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— Han Yu The trees and grass know that soon spring will go away; Of red blooms and green leaves they make gorgeous display. But willow catkins and elm pods are so unwise, They wish to be flying snow darkening the skies.