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[Geography: I]\n\n[Mountain]\n\nIn The Mountain\nWang Wei\nThe white stones gleam in the stream so bright; red leaves fall thin in the cold autumn light.\nNo rain falls on the winding hill; the green mist wets my gown with its chilly might.\n\nGazing at the Gate of Heaven Mountain\nLi Bai\nThe river cleaves the heavenly gate in twain; the blue waves eastward flow and turn again.\nFrom either bank green mountains stand in row; a single sail comes from the sun's bright glow.\n\nGazing at Mount Tai\nDu Fu\nHow magnificent then art thou, Mount Tai? Astride two states green ranges rise sky-high.\nNature in her well-wrought masterpiece took pride; thy light and shade on opposite slopes divide.\nThe masses of rising vapors broaden my breast, my eyes strained for birds winging to their nest.\nSurely will I reach the mountain top some day, and thus watch the hills in miniature lay.\n\n[Village]\n\nVisiting an Old Friend's Farm\nMeng Haoran\nMy friend prepares chicken and millet to share; he invites me to his cottage, a place so fair.\nGreen trees surround the village, in a close band; blue hills lean beyond the walls, in the far land.\nI open the window to face the fields and ground; over wine we talk of mulberry and hemp around.\nWhen the Double Ninth Festival comes to stay; I'll come again to enjoy the chrysanthemums in display.\n\nFarm Homes on the Wei River\nWang Wei\nThe slanting sun lights the village below; in narrow lanes, flocks and herds go.\nThe old man minds his herd boy so dear; leaning on staff, he waits by the door near.\nThe pheasant calls where wheat is tall; silkworms rest on leaves, in a thrall.\nThe farmer comes with hoe in hand; they chat friendly, on the land.\nI admire this leisure and peace; but sigh and chant "Homeward" with ease.\n\nRain over the Mountain Village\nWang Jian\nIn rain one or two cocks crow by the cottage door; by bamboo stream and village path, the plank bridge bends lower.\nThe women call each other to bathe the silkworms so; Idly I watch the gardenias in the courtyard grow.\n\nVillage Walk\nDu Mu\nIn mid-spring, west of Nanyang I go; the tender mulberries past the village flow.\nThe willow branches sway in the breeze so light; the raindrops dot the pond in rings of white.\nA cowherd in straw cloak sings his tune; a maid in red peeps through the fence at noon.\nHalf-damp, I take off my travel coat; the host serves chicken and millet, a hearty note.\n\n[Wilderness]\n\nGazing at the Wilds\nWang Ji\nAt dusk I gaze from Eastern Hill, but where can I find my rest?\nThe trees are all in autumn hue, the hills in sunset dressed.\nThe herdsman drives his calves back home, the hunter brings his game.\nWe look at each other, but none I know—I sing of ancient fame.\n\nWild Walk\nBai Juyi\nMy robe is heavy with dew on the grass; my clogs are light on the dry sand, as I pass.\nI raise my head to hear the bird's song; I stroll along, watching flowers ere long.\nOn leisure days, no official care I keep; in my declining years, a tranquil mind is deep.\nThis fleeting life is shorter than a dream; in dreams, do not strive and scheme.\n\n[River]\n\nBoating on the Han River\nWang Wei\nThe southern fortress meets the three streams' bound; the nine branches from Jingmen flow around.\nThe river rolls beyond the earth and sky; the mountains' hues are there, yet none descry.\nThe towns seem floating on the shore so wide; the billows heave the distant sky with pride.\nThe wind and sun in Xiangyang are so fine; I'd stay and drink with the old hermit divine.\n\nWriting My Thoughts on a Night Journey\nDu Fu\nThe grass blades tremble in the breeze by the shore; a lonely mast stands on the boat at night's core.\nThe stars bend low across the vast plain wide; the moon swells in the river's rushing tide.\nDoes fame come from the verses that I write? My post I lost through age and sickness slight.\nWhat am I like, drifting in this world of mine? A lone gull between the earth and sky's design.\n\nOde to the Evening River\nBai Juyi\nThe setting sun casts on the water its dye; half green, half red, the river's beauty I spy.\nHow fair the third night of the ninth moon so high; dew like pearls, moon like a bow in the sky.