| Old though I am |
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| On the Fushimi hills |
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| Sailing close to shore |
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| Showers wet / the orange blossoms |
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| Spring night, / and even the moonbeams |
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| This world— / no road that takes us out of it |
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| We hearing them |
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| Spring: Written at the Lake |
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| When spring comes, / this world once more |
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| As evening comes, / autumn wind from the meadows |
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