Classic Poem

Of all the famous Hangchou sights
everyone says that West Lake is the best.
I happen to have come in a dry winter
when West Lake is smaller than before.
Even brisk winds do not raise waves;
mudbanks emerge, covered with reeds.
But still I go floating in a little boat,
to view the scene and clarify my mind.
Hills and gullies — I recognize the new and old;
pavilions and terraces — classify the skillful and clumsy.
Clouds congeal, it darkens in broad daylight;
the trees all shed, the mountain is desolate.
I laugh at myself for being such a fool;
to be so late in coming for the view!
What I've gotten is lots of cold wind:
there's very little inspiration now.