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One morning I call for a sedan-chair man
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I've given up poetry — mdash;I have no new manuscripts
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The Wind sighs in the reeds — autumn on the rustic shore
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You think I am happy
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Just a few feet away, a temple from the Six Dynasties
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The False words of the Buddhists and Taoists
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This little courtyard — mdash;the wind is pure
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Floating threads of spider webs hang
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A Fine breeze blows through the temple halls
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The Day drags on, as long as a year!
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