Seeking the Hermitage of the Reverend Yong
- Poetry of Li Bai (Li Po)

The cliffs pierce the blue sky, green and steep;

Carefree, you don’t remember the years deep.

Parting the clouds, I search the pathway old;

Leaning on rock, I hear the stream water cold.

The flowers are warm where blue oxen lie;

The pines are high where white cranes sleep.

Our talk over, we find the river’s dyed by twilight;

Alone, I come down through the cold mist in sight.