Always polite, fastidiously dressed in a linen duster and mask, he used to leave behind facetious rhymes signed "Black Bart, Po--8...," in mail and express boxes after he had finished rifling them.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
By the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand, Lonely from the beginning of time until now!... Trees fall, the grass goes yellow with autumn.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Ah, how shall you know the dreary sorrow at the North Gate, With Li Po's name forgotten,... And we guardsmen fed to the tigers.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.... You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse, You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »