I perceive, as I pick my steps along the way,

On the moss-covered path, man’s shoes-prints clearly stay.

The white clouds cling to the quiet islet below;

Blocking the forlorn gate green grass is seen to grow.

The pine trees, just washed by the rain, much greener seems;

Tracing the mount leads me to the source of the stream.

Such flowers by the brook and such monastic solitude

Would, even in the Taoist’s presence, keep me mute.

Liu Changqing