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The cold mountain turns dark green.
The autumn stream flows murmuring on.
Leaning on my staff beneath the wicket gate,
In the rushing wind I hear the cry of the aged cicada.

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More quotes by Wang Wei

I will walk till the water checks my path,
Then sit and watch the rising clouds.

Empty hills, no one in sight,
only the sound of someone talking;
late sunlight enters the deep wood,
shining over the green moss again.

Red beans come from Southern country,
Few blossoms on vines when Spring comes.
For my sake please pick many of them,
They are the best symbol of true love.

All alone in a foreign land,
I am twice as homesick on this day
When brothers carry dogwood up the mountain,
Each of them a branch—and my branch missing.

Fighting single-handed for a thousand miles,
With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.

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Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Wang Wei (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.