I’ve been wanting to go to that Eastern cliff,
To the present–for innumerable years.

So yesterday I came and climbed up through the vines,
But halfway there, I was hampered by mist and wind.

The path was narrow–with my clothes it was hard to advance;
The moss was sticky–my shoes could not go on.

So I stay at the base of this red cinnamon tree,
Where with white clouds for my pillow, I sleep.

-- Han Shan, Cold Mountain

I love this, and have a perhaps slightly amusing story about it: https://ceoln.wordpress.com/2014/11/16/where-with-white-clouds-for-my-pillow-i-sleep/