| I came to this spring field to pick violets |
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| Deep in the mountains, through the pine door closed |
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| Sleeping, wanting to have the past that does not return |
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| Evening mists in the depths of my heart |
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| String of beads, if you must break, break |
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| First day starts, and "All's changed," The |
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| Summer night — little time to see the crescent moon decline |
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| For a moment we lay in the village of Fushimi |
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| Though the shining sun is clearly of the summer sky |
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| As I grow used to the mattress of moss |
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