Once I rode a phoenix over the Nine Doubtful Mountains;
now I ride the wind up Mount Kuei-chi.
Yu’s Cave is dark and deep—I peer down,
but Yu lived so long ago
it’s hard to tell if he was really here.

Thin mists obscure the highest peaks.
A fine drizzle lightens the autumn heat.
When I look back toward the pine trees on the slope
the clouds are turning into dragons and tigers.

Yang Wan-Li

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