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Clearing at Dawn

 The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of Spring teem on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full; With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks; The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.

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