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״Թ ѵ ɹѵ

ʫ300 168

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鲻ɼģϻء

ʫ300һ

Wei Zhuang
A NIGHT THOUGHT ON TERRACE TOWER

Far through the night a harp is sighing
With a sadness of wind and rain in the strings....
There's a solitary lantern, a bugle-call --
And beyond Terrace Tower down goes the moon.
...Fragrant grasses have changed and faded
While still I have been hoping that my old friend would come....
There are no more messengers I can send him,
Now that the wildgeese have turned south.

ʫ300

ʫ300Թʫ ʫ300ָ

ʫ300Թʫ ʫ300ָ ʫ300ʫ

ʫ300ʫ ʫ300Ծ ʫ300Ծ

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