The poem
In a happy reign there should be no hermits; The wise and able should consult together.... So you, a man of the eastern mountains, Gave up your life of picking herbs And came all the way to the Gate of Gold -- But you found your devotion unavailing. ...To spend the Day of No Fire on one of the southern rivers, You have mended your spring clothes here in these northern cities. I pour you the farewell wine as you set out from the capital -- Soon I shall be left behind here by my bosomfriend. In your sail-boat of sweet cinnamon-wood You will float again toward your own thatch door, Led along by distant trees To a sunset shining on a far-away town. ...What though your purpose happened to fail, Doubt not that some of us can hear high music.