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Spending the Night on Stone Gate Mountain
At dawn I plucked orchids in the park;
I feared they would wither in the frost.
At night I return to dwell at the clouds' edge,
Enjoying here the moonlight on the rocks.
Birds cry, revealing their nocturnal roost;
Leaves fall and I know the wind has risen.
Separate sounds can be heard perfectly together,
Variant echoes carry with equal clarity.
If no one appreciates these marvelous things,
With whom can I enjoy this fragrant wine.
The Fair One never comes;
I dry my hair in vain on Sunny Bank.
--Translated by Francis Westbrook
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