North Among Green Vines
- Poetry of Li Shangyin

Where the sun has entered the western hills,

I look for a monk in his little straw hut;

But only the fallen leaves are at home,

And I turn through chilling levels of cloud

I hear a stone gong in the dusk,

I lean full-weight on my slender staff

How within this world, within this grain of dust,

Can there be any room for the passions of men?

Poem translator: Kiang Kanghu