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��ɽ�����ˣ����������졣 ���������֣�������̦�ϡ� Deer Enclosure The empty mountain has no one seen, But someone over there is heard. The twilight slants into the thick woods, And again has mosses shimmered.
��ɽת�Դ䣬 ��ˮ�������� ���Ȳ����⣬ �ٷ���ĺ���� ��ͷ�����գ� �����Ϲ��̡� ��ֵ�������� �������ǰ�� A MESSAGE FROM MY LODGE AT WANGCHUAN TO PEI DI The mountains are cold and blue now And the autumn waters have run all day. By my thatch door, leaning on my staff, I listen to cicadas in the evening wind. Sunset lingers at the ferry, Supper-smoke floats up from the houses. ...Oh, when shall I pledge the great Hermit again And sing a wild poem at Five Willows?
��ɽ����� ��������� �����ɼ��գ� ��Ȫʯ������ �������Ů�� ���������ۡ� ���ⴺ��Ъ�� �����Կ����� AN AUTUMN EVENING IN THE MOUNTAINS After rain the empty mountain Stands autumnal in the evening, Moonlight in its groves of pine, Stones of crystal in its brooks. Bamboos whisper of washer-girls bound home, Lotus-leaves yield before a fisher-boat -- And what does it matter that springtime has gone, While you are here, O Prince of Friends?
�崨�������� ����ȥ���С� ��ˮ�����⣬ ĺ�����뻹�� �ij��ٹŶɣ� ��������ɽ�� �����Ը��£� �����ұչء� BOUND HOME TO MOUNT SONG The limpid river, past its bushes Running slowly as my chariot, Becomes a fellow voyager Returning home with the evening birds. A ruined city-wall overtops an old ferry, Autumn sunset floods the peaks. ...Far away, beside Mount Song, I shall close my door and be at peace.
̫�ҽ��춼�� ��ɽ�Ӻ��硣 ���ƻ����ϣ� �����뿴�ޡ� ��Ұ�з�䣬 ���������⡣ ��Ͷ�˴��ޣ� ��ˮ���Է� MOUNT ZHONGNAN Its massive height near the City of Heaven Joins a thousand mountains to the corner of the sea. Clouds, when I look back, close behind me, Mists, when I enter them, are gone. A central peak divides the wilds And weather into many valleys. ...Needing a place to spend the night, I call to a wood-cutter over the river.
����Ω�þ��� ���²����ġ� �Թ����ߣ� ��֪�����֡� �ɷ紵����� ɽ���յ��١� ������ͨ���� �������� ANSWERING VICE-PREFECT ZHANG As the years go by, give me but peace, Freedom from ten thousand matters. I ask myself and always answer: What can be better than coming home? A wind from the pine-trees blows my sash, And my lute is bright with the mountain moon. You ask me about good and evil fortune?.... Hark, on the lake there's a fisherman singing!
��֪����£� �������Ʒ塣 ��ľ���˾��� ��ɽ�δ��ӡ� Ȫ����Σʯ�� ��ɫ�����ɡ� ��ĺ��̶���� �����ƶ����� TOWARD THE TEMPLE OF HEAPED FRAGRANCE Not knowing the way to the Temple of Heaped Fragrance, Under miles of mountain-cloud I have wandered Through ancient woods without a human track; But now on the height I hear a bell. A rillet sings over winding rocks, The sun is tempered by green pines.... And at twilight, close to an emptying pool, Thought can conquer the Passion-Dragon.