From the boat watching hills—swift horses:
a hundred herds race by in a flash.
Ragged peaks before us suddenly change shape,
ranges behind us start and rush away.
I look up: a narrow road angles back and forth,
a man walking it, high in the distance.
I wave from the deck, trying to call,
but the sail takes us south like a soaring bird.
translated by Burton Watson
What a very pretty picture!
Somehow I always return to this poet.