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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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–Meng Haoran For miles and miles I sail and float; High famed mountains are hard to seek. By riverside I moor my boat, Then I perceive the Censer Peak. Knowing the Monk Yuan’s life and way, I love his solitary dell. His hermitage not far away, I hear at sunset but the bell.