The floating clouds wander everywhither as does man.
Day is departing—it and my friend.
Our hands separate. Now he is going.
"Hsiao, hsiao," the horse neighs.
He neighs again, "Hsiao, hsiao."
DESCENDING THE EXTREME SOUTH MOUNTAIN;
PASSING THE HOUSE OF HU SSŬ,
LOVER OF HILLS; SPENDING THE
NIGHT IN THE PREPARATION
OF WINE
BY LI T'AI-PO
We come down the green-grey jade hill,