Truly, I love this life of seclusion. Carrying my staff, I walk toward a friend's cottage. The trees in his garden, soaked by the evening rain, Reflect the cool, clear autumnal sky.
The owner's dog comes to greet me; Chrysanthemums bloom along the fence. These people have the same spirit as the ancients; An earthen wall marks their separation from the world.
In the house volumes of poetry are piled on the floor. Abondoning wordliness, I often come to this tranquil place.