Here at the world`s end the cold winds are beginning to blow. What messages have you for me, my master? When will the poor wandering goose arrive? The rivers and lakes are swollen with autumn`s waters. Art detests a too successful life; and the hungry goblins await you with welcoming jaws. You had better have a word with the ghost of that other wronged poet. Drop some verses into the Mi-lo as an offering to him! Tu Fu (tr. Hawkes)SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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