The Heaven's Gate Mountains
BY LI T'AI-PO
In the far distance, the mountains seem to rise out of the river;
Two peaks, standing opposite each other, make a natural gateway,
The cold colour of the pines is reflected between the river-banks,
Stones divide the current and shiver the wave-flowers to fragments.
Far off, at the border of Heaven, is the uneven line of mountain-pinnacles;
Beyond, the bright sky is a blur of rose-tinted clouds.
The sun sets, and the boat goes on and on —
As I turn my head, the mountains sink down into the brilliance of the cloud-covered sky.
In the far distance, the mountains seem to rise out of the river;
Two peaks, standing opposite each other, make a natural gateway,
The cold colour of the pines is reflected between the river-banks,
Stones divide the current and shiver the wave-flowers to fragments.
Far off, at the border of Heaven, is the uneven line of mountain-pinnacles;
Beyond, the bright sky is a blur of rose-tinted clouds.
The sun sets, and the boat goes on and on —
As I turn my head, the mountains sink down into the brilliance of the cloud-covered sky.
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