I must
launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the
shore—Alas
for me!
The spring
has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with the burden
of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.
The waves
have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the
shady lane
the yellow leaves flutter and fall.
What
emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrill
passing
through the air with the notes of the far-away song floating
from the other shore?
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