On the Painting of Yang Pass I
- Poetry of Huang Tingjian

The grief is in the song, though it has no shape to hold;

The grief is in this painting, though its world is soundless, cold.

And the mind goes travelling the road that stretches still

West of the Pass, where the north wind bows the grass upon the hill,

And sheep and cattle graze — a vision calm and vast,

A stillness that remembers all the travelling past.