Classic Poem

Many strange mountains in Shu and Han;
looking up, I see them level with the clouds,
shaded scarps piled with summer snow,
sunny ravines where autumn flowers fall
Morning after morning I watch the clouds go home,
evening on evening, hear the monkeys wail,
a melancholy man, sorrow always with me,
a lonely traveler, easily cast down.
From my room I look out, wine jar by my side,
plying the dipper, thinking back on life—
It is the nature of stone to be firm:
do not forsake the friendship we once had!