I hear the distant baying of the hound
Amid the waters murmuring around;
I see the peach-flowers bearing crystal rain,
The sportive deer around the forest fane.
The waving tops of bamboo groves aspire
In fleeting change the summer clouds to tire,
While from the emerald peaks of many hills
The sparkling cascades fall in fairy rills.
Beneath the pines within this shady dell,
I list in vain to hear the noontide bell;
The temple's empty, and the priest has gone,
And I am left to mourn my grief alone.