Arriving at Hangchou

Two years now since I last came
to visit at West Lake;
I have returned, the scenery
is lovelier than ever.
Mulberry leaves, stripped from branches,
green and soaked in rain;
wild vegetables with yellow flowers
reach to the horizon.
In deserted temples, monks no longer
sound the bells and chimes;
above the tombs of families,
smoke from paper cash.
The lake's surface is like a mirror,
my hair is white as snow;
reflected in the water,
my life is clearly seen.
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Author of original: 
Yüan Mei
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