With a blue line of mountains north of the wall, 
And east of the city a white curve of water, 
Here you must leave me and drift away 
Like a loosened water-plant hundreds of miles…. 
I shall think of you in a floating cloud; 
So in the sunset think of me. 
…We wave our hands to say good-bye, 
And my horse is neighing again and again.

Li Bai

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