Though a country be sundered, hills and rivers endure;
And spring comes green again to trees and grasses
Where petals have been shed like tears
And lonely birds have sung their grief.
…After the war-fires of three months,
One message from home is worth a ton of gold.
…I stroke my white hair. It has grown too thin
To hold the hairpins any more.
春望
国破山河在, 城春草木深。
感时花溅泪, 恨别鸟惊心。
烽火连三月, 家书抵万金。
白头搔更短, 浑欲不胜簪。
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