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— Wang Wei Fresh rain washed the mountains bare, Autumn permeates evening air. Among pine trees bright moonbeams peer; Over crystal stones flows water clear. Bamboos whisper of washer-maids; Lotus stirs when fishing boat wades. Though fragrant spring may pass away, Still here’s the place for noble souls to stay.
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— Wang Wei I follow the Blue Rill To the Stream of Yellow Blooms. It winds from hill to hill Till far away it looms. It roars amid pebbles white And calms down under pines green. Weeds float on ripples light, Reeds mirrored like a screen. Mind’s carefree, alone; The clear stream flows with…