Woman Poet: Ho Xuan Huong
A gap, a pass and still another pass,
Praise to the sculptor of this land of sweet suspense
At last the gate opens, crimson with a crested crown,
A little rock bides there, dark under the moss
The pine branch shivers with the coming of the storm,
Like pearls shines the dew on the leaves of the drenched willow.
Wise men, people of great virtue… no one turns away.
No one so finished, broken knees, feet collapsed, they still are keen to climb.