Where the sun has entered the western hills,
I look for a monk in his little straw hut;
But only the fallen leaves are at home,
And I turn through chilling levels of cloud.
I hear a stone gong in the dusk,
I lean full-weight on my slender staff. . .
How within this world, within this grain of dust,
Can there be any room for the passions of men?

translated by Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu