Classic Poem

The traveler is a prey to endless sorrows,
As one grief goes another comes behind
Such a long road leading back to my old home,
With rivers and hills between that cannot be crossed
Time rushes by, yet no one shares my pleasures,
So when spring comes I have to start climbing alone
Perhaps, I thought, since no one shares my joys,
I shall find a scene to suit my melancholy
Now I stare out to the plains that lie to the left,
Then turn my gaze to the gorges on my right
As the sun goes down, the mountain stream swells higher,
As the clouds are born, the peaks are plunged in mist
White flag is vying with the young tree-creeper,
Green duckweed is just venturing into leaf.
The fragrant plants I pluck brook no forgetting,
All these delights I must enjoy alone
Not a trace of a friend to come and meet me here,
The distance only mocks my loneliness.