As I have walked the calm distances of high peaks and crests of mountains of delicate resistance. I then peered across the bamboo and the ancient trees to contemplate a visa of magic and the beauty.
Sitting in a glade I saw a man, tall and lithe and as hard as rock. He sat composing a poem, and lounging near to him I saw a great tiger, fierce in the eyes and gentle pawed. The fog-filled me with a place so big and so much happiness, and I left refreshed, and died.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem