Iâ??m sick, for sure: deep darkness holds my heart,
Iâ??m bored with the people and the stories,
And dream of treasures of the kingdoms, glories,
And yataghans, all covered with blood. ...
How tranquil is this little mountain lake
Itâ??s filled with water like a cup
Bamboo looks just like little houses
And trees above â?? a sea of roofs. ...
I dream'd there would be Spring no more,
That Nature's ancient power was lost:
The streets were black with smoke and frost,
They chatter'd trifles at the door:
I wander'd from the noisy town,
I found a wood with thorny boughs:
I took the thorns to bind my brows,
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