Walking in the Country outside T'ai-yüan on a Spring Day

Teeth of clogs, carriage wheels, the hooves of horses:
everywhere, the green brush has been worn down into paths.
But there's no one here to lament the flowers as their petals fall,
so I have come to listen a while to the calls of the birds.
I love letting my sandals follow each bend of the river;
I want my spirits to rise as high as these mountains!
Now my poem is finished—who will accompany me on the flute?
No, I'll inscribe these words on the vines
or maybe on the stones.
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Author of original: 
Yang Chi
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