Staying the night at Wang Changling’s retreat*
by Chang Jian

The clear stream is immeasurably deep;
Where you live as a hermit there is only a lonely cloud.
At the edge of the pines a sliver of moon is showing,
Its limpid light still shinning there for you.
Shadows of flowers sleep under your thatched roof;
Moss grows in veins over your peony courtyard.
I’m going to take my leave of the world, like you,
And join the phoenixes and cranes in the western hills.

*From Three Hundred Tang poems. Translated by Peter Harris. Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets