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Spring View

Du Fu · c. 757 CE · Poem · Chinese · Medieval

The state is broken, and the hills and rivers are where they always were; the capital has gone to weeds and deep spring grass while its people are somewhere else. Blossom draws tears from a man in that condition, and birds that ought to be a pleasure startle the heart instead; the beacon fires have run three months together and a letter from home would be worth ten thousand in gold. Held under guard in occupied Chang'an, and the eight lines most Chinese schoolchildren can still recite.

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