Feelings Come As I Pass through Wu-chiang
Sung-ling road in setting sunlight;
the embankment so long it nearly circles town.
A pagoda twists up, the lake is shimmering;
a bridge beckons where moon reflections come.
The city is silent: people have fled taxation;
the river, wide: travelers escape the troops.
My friends of twenty years ago — all scattered;
wine in hand, I sigh at fleeting fame.
the embankment so long it nearly circles town.
A pagoda twists up, the lake is shimmering;
a bridge beckons where moon reflections come.
The city is silent: people have fled taxation;
the river, wide: travelers escape the troops.
My friends of twenty years ago — all scattered;
wine in hand, I sigh at fleeting fame.
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