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XXI
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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