IN MY ROOM

In this high room, my room of quiet space,

Sun-yellow softened for my happiness,

I learn of you, Wang Wei, and of your loves;

Your rhythmic fisher sweet with solitude

Beneath a willow by the river stream;

Your aged plum tree bearing lonely bloom

Beside the torrent's thunder; misty buds

Among your saplings; delicate-leaved bamboo.

My room is sweet because of you, Wang Wei,

Your tranquil and creative-fingered love

So many mounds of mournful years ago

In that cool valley where the colors lived.

My ceiling slopes a little like far mountains.

Your delicate-leaved bamboo can flourish here.