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Li Shangyin
It's hard to say goodbye when we meet, the east wind is powerless and the flowers are withered.
The spring silkworm's silk will not be used up until it dies, and the wax torch will not dry until it turns to ashes.
The morning mirror is full of worry, but the clouds on the temples are changing, and the moonlight is cold when singing at night.
There is not much way to get to Pengshan, and the blue bird is diligent in visiting.