Faraway bells echo in the valley
one by one the woodsmen are heading home.
White clouds at the summit still beckon me
but how dark and somber the mountain has become!
An evening breeze bends the water-rushes
catkin fluff flying everywhere.
Far to the east new grass greens the marshes
but here it is dusk. I go in and bar the door.
WANG WEI
(Trans. Taylor Stoehr)