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One hillock often wish lie Three times hardship without money North land not my wish East forest think my master Gold burn cassia exhaust Great ideal each year decline Sun set cool wind come Hear cicada still increase sorrow |
I'd often like to lie atop a hill, Instead I suffer hardship, lacking money. This northern land was never what I wished, Instead I think of my teacher in the eastern forest. Golden flecks in the ash of cassia wood, My great ideals decline more year by year. As the sun goes down, a chilling wind appears, To hear cicadas makes me sorrow more. |