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xún

西
shān
yǐn
zhě
bù
yù


 
 
AFTER MISSING the RECLUSE ON the WESTERN MOUNTAIN

jué
dǐng

máo


zhí
shàng
sān
shí



kòu
guān
wú
zhuàng
pú

kuī
shì
wéi
àn



ruò
fēi
jīn
chái
chē

yìng
shì
diào
qīu
shuǐ


chà
chí
bù
xiāng
jiàn

miǎn
miǎn
kōng
yǎng
zhǐ


cǎo
sè
xīn
yǔ
zhōng

sōng
shēng
wǎn
chuāng






yōu
jué


zú
dàng
xīn
ěr


suī
wú
bīn
zhǔ


pō
dé
qīng
jìng



xìng
jìn
fāng
xià
shān

hé

dāi
zhī




To your hermitage here on the top of the mountain

I have climbed, without stopping, these ten miles.

I have knocked at your door, and no one answered;

I have peeped into your room, at your seat beside the table.

Perhaps you are out riding in your canopied chair,

Or fishing, more likely, in some autumn pool.

Sorry though I am to be missing you,

You have become my meditation --

the beauty of your grasses, fresh with rain,

And close beside your window the music of your pines.

I take into my being all that I see and hear,

Soothing my senses, quieting my heart;

And though there be neither host nor guest,

Have I not reasoned a visit complete?

...After enough, I have gone down the mountain.

Why should I wait for you any longer?

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