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Nobody knew my name . Up through the clouds to harvest my grain , climbing like an ant into the tree to pick the oranges . Saw a tiger wander by that lonesome village . . Anyone could grow white haire d living a life like that . 890 ) Sno w dense, soundless, falling through azure emptines s swirling clouds sing and dance in the soft breeze . as the recluse hums a line in praise of hidden place s vagrant flakes drift in and stain his inkstone black . (9th-10th Century) Cold Food Festival Day The Day of Cold Food, sadly lookin g on the Spring outside the city wall : no place in the wild fields that doesn't somehow wound my spirit .

Chestnuts pile up on your path . Monkeys circle where you sit . If you ever set up another Zendo , I swear 1'11 be the one who sweeps the floors . Moored on Fall Rive r To an Old Monk on Mount T'ien T'a i Banks like Lake Tung-t'ing, bu t the hills too steep . Living alone where none other dwells , shrine among the pines where mountain tints encroach , old man's been ninety years a monk : heart beyond the clouds a lifetime long . White hair hangs down, his head's unshaven : clear black pupils smile deep mysteries .

The cleansing sprin g Floats a fallen leaf; On rock concentration s Chirping crickets assemble . Turning, I view Cloud Gate Mountain : Dwindling Sun descend s The distant peak. (f1 late IOth MINN ) Visiting Yang Yun-shih's Villa on the Huai Rive r The place is close , We got there in a hurr y And, hand in hand, turne d Toward the wilderness pavillion . The river dividin g Breaks the hill's contour; Spring ' s coming quickgreen s Burned-over fields . We looked around so long , The fishermen reeled in their lines , Talked so much, the crane s All took off.