| The Year is ending |
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| Still wait, steadfast |
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| How many thousand times |
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| Scattering blossoms, / when spring comes round again |
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| Voice of the, The / border wind blowing now |
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| If the smoke rises from |
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| Having only heard |
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| Gazing at this, / I might think that snow had fallen |
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| Not even the moon |
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| It is not likely |
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