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chūn
fàn
ruò
yē



A boat in spring on ruoya lake
yōu

wú
duàn
jué


qù
suí
suǒ
ǒu


wǎn
fēng
chuī
xíng
zhōu

huā
lù
rù

kǒu



yè
zhuǎn

西
hè

gé
shān
wàng
nán
dǒu


tán
yān
fēi
róng
róng

lín
yuè

xiàng
hòu


shēng
shì
jū

màn

yuàn
wèi
chí
gān
竿
sǒu


Thoughtful elation has no end:

Onward I bear it to whatever come.

And my boat and I, before the evening breeze

Passing flowers, entering the lake,

Turn at nightfall toward the western valley,

Where I watch the south star over the mountain

And a mist that rises, hovering soft,

And the low moon slanting through the trees;

And I choose to put away from me every worldly matter

And only to be an old man with a fishing-pole.

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