The error of my Wei

I was trying to find a poem I remembered reading a long time ago by the Chinese poet Wang Wei.  The teacher who introduced him to me used to pronounce his name as if it sounded like "wrong way," which she thought was hilarious.  It's been maybe 12 years since I last saw the poem, but the imagery struck me at the time.  I even recall copying it into a notebook.  I don't know where the notebook is now- probably rotting in a box full of angst-ridden verses- but I think this was it:

Stopping at Incense Storing Temple

I did not know the incense storing temple,
I walked a few miles into the clouded peaks.
No man on the path between the ancient trees,
A bell rang somewhere deep among the hills.
A spring sounded choked, running down steep rocks,
The green pines chilled the sunlight's colored rays.
Come dusk, at the bend of a deserted pool,
Through meditation I controlled passion's dragon.

Maybe it was the bell that got me.  You all know I love a good bell ringing.  Looking at this poem now, though, it's just not living up to the impression I had of it.  Luckily, I stumbled onto the writings of the lovely Japanese poet Izumi Shikibu, which cheered me up.  Despite lacking the heterography of Mr. Wang's name, I find her delightful. 

Here's one for the people of Japan right now.  Our thoughts and prayers are with you.

“Although the wind ...”

Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.