Yi Chon-o. (14th Century)
From the door of my house I count three mountain peaks.
The long road thither is the road of my desire.
Often at dusk their voices call my name
And love flows down to me from those far heights.
Often I cannot see them, for their form
Is veiled in mist and I am almost blind.
Yet the Lotus on their summit—that I always see.Â