I am a big fan of Chinese poetry. It is slightly more accessible than the Japanese variety, including haiku and tends to be a real feast of the senses. The following is from the Chinese master Du Fu (712-770.)
Each piece of flying blossom leaves spring the less,
I grieve as myriad points float in the wind.
I watch the last ones pass before my eyes,
And cannot have enough wine pass my lips.
Kingfishers nest by the little hall on the river,
A unicorn lies at the tomb near the enclosure.
One must go gladly at nature’s gentle call,
For what use is the trap of empty titles?