众岫耸寒色，精庐向此分。 流星透疏木，走月逆行云。 绝顶人来少，高松鹤不群。 一僧年八十，世事未曾闻。
Overnight at a Mountain Temple Chia
Tao
Flock
of peaks hunched up and
colored cold. The path forks here,
toward the temple. A
falling star flares behind bare trees, and
the moon breasts the current of the clouds. Few
men come to the very top… One
tall pine won’t hold a flock of cranes. One
monk here, at eighty, has
never heard tell of
the “world” down below.
（J.P. Seaton 译） |
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