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It's difficult for us to meet and hard to part,
The east wind is too weak to revive flowers dead.
The silkworm till its death spins silk from love-sick heart;
The candle only when burned has no tears to shed.
At dawn she'd be afraid to see mirrored hair gray;
At night she would feel cold while I croon by moonlight.
To the three fairy hills it is not a long way.
Without the blue-bird oft fly to see her on their height?
李商隐
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