«Climbing high» Dù Fǔ
The wind sharp, heaven high, a monkey cries his grief
The islet bare, the sand white, birds wheel 'round.
Without end, tree leaves flutter and whistle down
Without ceasing, the great river surges, rolling forward.
Ten thousand miles through cheerless autumn, always on the move
Old and sick, I mount the look-out alone.
Hardship and bitter regret have frosted my temples
And frustrated, made me abstain from my cup of clouded wine.
«Cold river snow» Liǔ Zōngyuán
A thousand hills, but no birds fly
Ten thousand paths, but no human footprints
A lone boat, old man in cape and hat of straw
Fishing alone in the cold river snow.