WANG : On the lonely mountain
I meet no one,
I hear only the echo
of human voices.
At an angle the sun's rays
enter the depths of the wood,
And shine
upon the green moss.

PEI : At the end of the day
the mountain looks cold
But a belated wanderer
still passes on his way.
He knows nothing
of the life of the wood:
Nothing remains
but the tracks of the buck.