From David Hinton’s translation of Li Po – The Selected Poems of Li Po
Listening to Lu Tzu-Hsun play the ch’in on a moonlit night
The night’s lazy, the moon bright. Sitting
here, a recluse plays his pale white ch’in,
and suddenly, as if cold pines were singing,
it’s all those harmonies of grieving wind.
Intricate fingers flurries of white snow,
empty thoughts emerald-water clarities:
No one understands now. Those who could
hear a song this deeply vanished long ago.