After his friends rigged a pulley and lowered the pack
It’s not new, this condition, just for awhile kept deep in the cortex of things imagined
Long I had heard of Lake Tung-t’ing And now at last I have climbed the tower.Wu is to the east, and Chu to the south,
A wanderer hears drums, warning him of war,And that one cry of autumn from a wild-goose at the border,And he knows that the dews tonight will be frost
Four hundred dollars beat for him Like a still heart within the house, Midway the wall whereon a clock Made nightly music for the mouse.