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68. AT A RIVER TOWN
A river town. The autumn rain has stopt.
Our wine is gone. So, farewell!
While you lie idle in your boat,
Your sail flies down homeward over the waves,
Past the islands burning red with flowers,
Past the slender willows, green on the river strand.
What of me after parting? I know not — I'll go back, perhaps, to my old fishing rock on the beach.
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