Po Chu-i (772-846)
I wondered why the covers felt so cold,
and then I saw how bright my window was.
Night far gone, I know the snow must be deep —
from time to time I hear the bamboos cracking.
Liu Tsung-Yuan (773-819)
From a thousand hills, bird flights have vanished;
on ten thousand paths, human traces wiped out:
lone boat, an old man in straw cape and hat,
fishing alone in the cold river snow.