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Poem	I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers, Borne by the channel of a green stream, Rounding ten thousand turns through the mountains On a journey of less than thirty miles.... Rapids hum over heaped rocks; But where light grows dim in the thick pines, The surface of an inlet sways with nut-horns And weeds are lush along the banks. ...Down in my heart I have always been as pure As this limpid water is.... Oh, to remain on a broad flat rock And to cast a fishing-line forever!
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