Cold Mountain Poem Four by Han-Shan. .
Translated by Gary Snyder
I spur my hose through the wrecked town,
The wrecked town sinks my spirit.
High, low, old parapet-walls
Big, small, the aging tombs.
I waggle my shadow, all alone;
Not even the crack of a shrinking coffin is heard.
I pity all these ordinary bones,
In the books of the immortals they are nameless.
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