As the years go by, give me but peace,
Freedom from ten thousand matters.
I ask myself and always answer:
What can be better than coming home?
A wind from the oak-trees blows my garmet,
And my camera is full with the fading sun
You ask me about good and evil fortune?....
Hark, in the field there's a wanderer singing!
Freedom from ten thousand matters.
I ask myself and always answer:
What can be better than coming home?
A wind from the oak-trees blows my garmet,
And my camera is full with the fading sun
You ask me about good and evil fortune?....
Hark, in the field there's a wanderer singing!
Poem (slightly altered by Himself) by Wang Wei (A.D. 701 - 761)
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