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CHEN FENG

Swift flies the falcon,
To the thick-wooded forest in the north.
While I do not see my husband,
My heart cannot forget its grief.
How is it, how is it,
That he forgets me so very much?
On the mountain are the bushy oaks;
In the low wet grounds are six elms.
While I do not see my husband,
My sad heart has no joy.
How is it, how is it,
That he forgets me so very much?
On the mountain are the bushy sparrow-plums;
In the low wet grounds are the high, wild pear trees.
While I do not see my husband,
My heart is as if intoxicated with grief.
How is it, how is it,
That he forgets me so very much?
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IATHPublished by The Institute for Advanced Technology in the Humanities, © Copyright 2003 by Anne Kinney and the University of Virginia