Rough were the mountain-stones， and the path very narrow；
And when I reached the temple， bats were in the dusk.
I climbed to the hall， sat on the steps， and drank the rain- washed air
Among the round gardenia-pods and huge bananaleaves.
On the old wall， said the priest， were Buddhas finely painted，
And he brought a light and showed me， and I called them wonderful
He spread the bed， dusted the mats， and made my supper ready，
And， though the food was coarse， it satisfied my hunger.
At midnight， while I lay there not hearing even an insect，
The mountain moon with her pure light entered my door……
At dawn I left the mountain and， alone， lost my way：
In and out， up and down， while a heavy mist
Made brook and mountain green and purple， brightening everything.
I am passing sometimes pines and oaks， which ten men could not girdle，
I am treading pebbles barefoot in swift-running water ——
Its ripples purify my ear， while a soft wind blows my garments……
These are the things which， in themselves， make life happy.
Why should we be hemmed about and hampered with people？
O chosen pupils， far behind me in my own country，
What if I spent my old age here and never went back home？