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Chinese Literature

Tune: " Phoenix Perching on Parasol Tree"
 ---Liu Yong

Alone I lean against the parapet of a high tower in a gentle breeze,
Gazing into the distance where the grief of separation
Looms on the horizon.
Amidst the grass and hills shimmering in the setting sun,
No one can fathom the inquietude of my mide.

I tried to drown my sorrows in wine and song;
And fored myself to drink to oblivion but I am empty still
My clothes hang loose on my emaciated body
But regrets I have none, it is because of her.

凤栖梧
---柳永

伫倚危楼风细细。望极春愁,黯黯生天际。
草色烟光残照里。无言谁会凭阑意?
拟把疏狂图一醉。对酒当歌,强乐还无味。
衣带渐宽终不悔。为伊消得人憔悴。
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Written While Taking Seven Paces

Written While Taking Seven Paces
---Cao Zhi

Pods burned to cook peas,
Peas weep in the pot:
"Grown from the same trees,
Why boil us so hot?"
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Wu Song Beats Tiger
On his way to visit his brother, Wu Song was at a place called Mount Jingyang. Though a bit drunk, he began to climb the mountain. Before long he saw a sign posted on a tree: "Travelers are advised to group together to climb over the mountain since tigers have killed some singular travelers of late. Please do not risk your life." Wu Song reasoned that the sign must have been written by the inn keeper at the foot of the mountain for the sake of scaring travelers into spending the night in his inn. He did not pay attention to the sign and continued on this way . At sunset he came to an old temple on top of the mountain. There Wu Song saw another official sing tigers on the mountain. Still, he decided no to return to the inn at the foot of the mountain for fear that the owner would laugh at him. He felt too drunk to
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The Old Wife And The New
She goes uphill where herbs appear;
Downhill, she meets her former husband dear.
She kneels and asks him, "How do you...
How do you find your young wife new?"
"Though my new wife is no less fair,
My old wife is beyond compare.
In looks by your side she may stand,
But she's less clever with her hand.
Since she came in through the front door,
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Green, green, the riverside grass

Green, green, the riverside grass,
Fair, fair, the embowered lass.
White, white, from the windows she sees
Lush, lush, the garden's willow trees.
In rosy, rosy, dress she stands;
She puts forth slender, slender hands.
A singing girl in early life,
Now she is a deserted wift.
Her husband's gone far, far away.
How can she bear her lone, lone day!
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