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— Li Bai All willow-down has fallen and sad cuckoos cry To hear you banished southwestward beyond Five Streams. I would confide no sorrow to the moon on high For it will follow you west of the Land of Dreams.
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— Wang Changling A cold rain dissolved in East Stream invades the night; At dawn you’ll leave the lonely Southern hills in haze. If my friends in the North should ask if I’m all right, Tell them I’m free from blame as ice in crystal vase.