The mountains are cold and blue now

　　And the autumn waters have run all day.

　　By my thatch door， leaning on my staff，

　　I listen to cicadas in the evening wind.

　　Sunset lingers at the ferry，

　　Supper-smoke floats up from the houses.

　　……Oh， when shall I pledge the great Hermit again

　　And sing a wild poem at Five Willows？