Wang Wêi
Wang Wêi
維 王
DEER-PARK HERMITAGE
There seems to be no one on the empty mountain . . .And yet I think I hear a voice,Where sunlight, entering a grove,Shines back to me from the green moss.
(103)
IN A RETREAT AMONG BAMBOOS
Leaning alone in the close bamboos,I am playing my lute and humming a songToo softly for anyone to hear—Except my comrade, the bright moon.
A PARTING
Friend, I have watched you down the mountainTill now in the dark I close my thatch door. . . .Grasses return again green in the spring,But O my Prince of Friends, do you?
(68)
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