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Apricot tree, bear no fruit, alas! Strike not your branches against one another, alas! Whenever I wander within your shade, Stir not my sorrows together. Aye, give [it], give [it] back, O mountains!—the cool breeze has fallen, The joy of my heart has fallen into the sea. May this year’s season pass and return no more,— Black grief has fallen upon my neck. Breeze, breeze, the cool breeze has fallen,— The joy of my heart has fallen into the sea.