We dismount; I give you wine
and ask, where are you off to?
You answer, nothing goes right!–
back home to lie down by Southern Mountain.
Go then–I’ll ask no more–
there’s no end to white clouds there.
translated by Burton Watson
We dismount; I give you wine
and ask, where are you off to?
You answer, nothing goes right!–
back home to lie down by Southern Mountain.
Go then–I’ll ask no more–
there’s no end to white clouds there.
translated by Burton Watson
poetry by Robert Ford
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