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The reeds and rushes are deeply green, |
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And the white dew is turned into hoarfrost. |
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The man of whom I think, |
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Is somewhere about the water. |
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I go up the stream in quest of him, |
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But the way is difficult and long. |
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I go down the stream in quest of him, |
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And lo! he is right in the midst of the water. |
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The reeds and rushes are luxuriant, |
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And the white dew is not yet dry. |
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The man of whom I think, |
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Is on the margin of the water. |
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I go up the stream in quest of him, |
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But the way is difficult and steep. |
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I go down the stream in quest of him, |
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And lo! he is on the islet in the midst of the water. |
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The reeds and rushes are abundant, |
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And the white dew is not yet ceased. |
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The man of whom I think, |
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Is on the bank of the river. |
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I go up the stream in quest of him, |
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But the way is difficult and turns to the right. |
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I go down the stream in quest of him, |
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And lo! he is on the island in the midst of the water. |