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Climbing High Du Fu (Tang Dynasty) The wind is fierce, the sky high, the monkeys howl mournfully; the islet is clear, the sand white, the birds fly back. Boundless fallen leaves rustle down; the endless Yangtze River rolls on. Ten thousand miles from home, I often feel sorrow in autumn; a hundred years old, I am often ill, and I climb this high alone. Hardships and sorrows have frosted my temples; in my decline, I have newly stopped drinking wine.

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