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Spring flowers and autumn leaves,

will they never end?

How many things have happened?

In this little tower, last night,

the east wind blew once more.

Can I bear to look back at the old country

in the bright moon?

The carved hand-rails and marble steps

must still be there,

But not my youthful cheeks.

How much sadness can I bear?

As much as an eastward-flowing river filled with

spring water.

© Li Yu