A Song at Wêi-Ch'êng
A morning-rain has settled the dust in Wêi-ch'êng;
Willows are green again in the tavern dooryard. . . .
Wait till we empty one more cup—
West of Yang Gate there'll be no old friends.
Willows are green again in the tavern dooryard. . . .
Wait till we empty one more cup—
West of Yang Gate there'll be no old friends.
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