Legend speaks of Master P'ang, that recluse
Who came for herbs and stayed on, tending
Mushrooms and thistles along golden streams,
Sleeping on a stone bed of lichen and moss.
Lost in thoughts of that long-ago sage,
I put my boat ashore and hike up to where
Traces of his recluse home still stands today.
In this wind at the far end of distance now,
His timeless cinnamons regal and empty,
He's a white cloud that one day drifted away.
- Meng hao-jan (689-740 C.E.)