Beneath the blossoms with a pot of wine, No friends at hand, so I poured alone; I raised my cup to invite the moon, Turned to my shadow, and we became three.
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"I wake with the moon on my pillow—it’s frost, I suppose."
"I do not dare to speak in a loud voice, I fear to disturb the people in heaven."
"The birds have vanished into the sky and now the last cloud drains away. We sit together the mountain and me, until only the mountain remains."
"I climb up high and look on the four seas, Heaven and earth spreading out so far. Frost blankets all the stuff of autumn, The wind blows with the great desert's cold."
"Green hills above the northern wall, White water winding east of the city. On this spot our single act of parting, The lonely tumbleweed journeys ten thousand li."
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