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17th of 8th moon

The Autumn Moon is rounded still this night.
At Kiang-tsun I pass my lonely age.
I roll the blind: she yet pours down her light.
She follows aye my staff-propped pilgrimage.


Her piercing beams the hidden dragons know.
Her radiance wakes the fluttering birds from rest.
In orange groves stands my thatched bungalow.
All purity in this fresh dew expressed.