AFTER MISSING THE RECLUSE ON THE WESTERN MOUNTAIN
To your hermitage here on the top of the mountain
I have climbed， without stopping， these ten miles.
I have knocked at your door， and no one answered；
I have peeped into your room， at your seat beside the table.
Perhaps you are out riding in your canopied chair，
Or fishing， more likely， in some autumn pool.
Sorry though I am to be missing you，
You have become my meditation ——
The beauty of your grasses， fresh with rain，
And close beside your window the music of your pines.
I take into my being all that I see and hear，
Soothing my senses， quieting my heart；
And though there be neither host nor guest，
Have I not reasoned a visit complete？
……After enough， I have gone down the mountain.
Why should I wait for you any longer？