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A SONG OF AN AUTUMN MIDNIGHT
Li Bai
A slip of the moon hangs over the capital;
Ten thousand washing-mallets are pounding;
And the autumn wind is blowing my heart
For ever and ever toward the Jade Pass....
Oh, when will the Tartar troops be conquered,
And my husband come back from the long campaign!
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ÍøÂç×ÊÔ´ Freekaoyan.com/2008-04-11
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