Found another one:

Traveling at Night, trying to Write a Poem
A breeze gently sways the grass that grows along the shore,
The danger is in raising a sail on a boat alone at night,
Still, stars sparkle above a wide skyline,
While the moon rises as the river flows by

What is my name but the works I've written,
Officially retired now that I am old and sick.
Fluttering from place to place,
Between heaven and earth, like a seagull.

Du Fu, on the Yangtze, also 765 apparently

This might be an unabridged version of the same poem actually. I'm not sure. I like how this sort of expressionistic stuff seems to transcend cultural boundaries. Exhibit A:

That's from the original Night of the Hunter. It's the kind of vibe I imagine while reading that poem.