by Huáng Fǔzēng of the Táng Dynasty
One thousand peaks await this recluse,
Fragrant tea bushes bud and grow thick;
For picking, he knows the deepest places,
I envy his solitary journey through glowing morning mists;
His remote destination a distant mountain temple,
Supping in the wilderness, the spring water clear;
Loneliness pervades, I light a lamp at night,
And yearning for his company, sound the stone chime once.
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