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In the twilight of yellow clouds
The crows seek their nests by the city wall.
The crows are flying home, cawing--
Cawing to one another in the tree-tops.
Lo, the maid of Chin-chuan at her loom
Weaving brocade,--for whom, I wonder?
She murmurs softly to herself
Behind the blue mist of gauze curtain.
She stops her shuttle, and broods sadly,
Remembering him who is far away--
She must lie alone in her bower at night,
And her tears fall like rain.