The Jade Mountain/North Among Green Vines
NORTH AMONG GREEN VINES
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?