That I am glad to be an exile here in this wild southland.
I am a neighbor now of planters and reapers.
I am a guest of the mountains and woods.
I plow in the morning, turning dewy grasses,
And at evening tie my fisher-boat, breaking the quiet stream.
Back and forth I go, scarcely meeting anyone,
And sing a long poem and gaze at the blue sky.
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by Liu Zongyuan, 805AD
