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When the wind is gentle
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Last year, with jade hands, you offered cups of tea
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I gaze at this, my hometown
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As old age approaches
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Among red leaves and green mountains, white clouds fly
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Of all the famous Hangchou sights
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There was no reason to expect sadness
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The Mountain pavilion is silent — few people visit me here
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Of my flesh and blood, only one remains
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I planned to get drunk to ease my sadness
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