Clearing at Dawn

 The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of Spring teem on every side.

With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.

The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;
The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.

By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.

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