I built my hut within where others live,

But there is no noise of carriages and horses.

You ask how this is possible:

When the heart is distant, solitude comes.

I pluck chrysanthemums by the eastern fence

And see the distant southern mountains.

The mountain air is fresh at dusk.

Flying birds return in flocks.

In these things there lies a great truth,

But when I try to express it, I cannot find the words.

Tao Yuan-ming (365-427)