“. . . Like ashes of gold in a cinnamon-flame, My youthful desires have been burnt with the years– And tonight in the chilling sunset-wind A cicada, singing, weighs on my heart.” — Haoran Meng Copy Share Image
“. . . Like ashes of gold in a cinnamon-flame, My youthful desires have been burnt with the years– And tonight in the chilling… — Haoran Meng Copy Share Image
