Tao Yuanming

I built my cottage in the realm of men,

and yet there's no clamor of carriages or horses.
How, you ask, can it be so?
When the mind is detached, one's place becomes remote.
I pick chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge,
catch sight of the southern mountain in the distance.
The mist on the mountain is radiant in twilight;
birds on the wing make their way home together.
In all this there's some truer meaning —
I'd tell you, only I've forgot the words.

(Tao Yuanming 陶淵明, “Drinking, V” 飲酒，其五)