To a Painter
Lu Xun
The wind from the capital darkens the forest;
Under dark skies the flowers all die.
Could you devise a new kind of art,
And use red ink to paint spring mountains?
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To a Painter
Lu Xun
The wind from the capital darkens the forest;
Under dark skies the flowers all die.
Could you devise a new kind of art,
And use red ink to paint spring mountains?