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— Li Qi In the eighth moon the weed cold grows, The autumn waves surge with white crest. The mast shivers as north wind blows; Why should my guest go to the west? The rain no longer drizzles on hilltop; Out of the door rises the evening tide. At night along the beach my…
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— Wen Tingyun At dawn I rise, with ringing bells my cab goes, But grieved in thoughts of my home, I feel lost. As the moon sets over thatched inn, the cock crows; Footprints are left on wood bridge paved with frost. The mountain path is covered with oak leaves, The post-house bright with…
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— Zhang Ji Moon sets, crows cry, frost fills the sky; Facing dim fishing boats neath maples, sad I lie. Beyond the city wall of Gusu, from Temple of Cold Hill Bells break the ship-borne roamer’s dream in midnight still.