I found this library poem in Mountain Home: The Wilderness Poetry of Ancient China translated by David Hinton.
At Truth-Expanse Monastery, in the Dharma Master's West Library
At a thatch hut above riverside cliffs,
rapids far below: crystalline chimes
in vast river-and-mountains solitude.
Climbing in to such views means pure
confusion. I straggled up First-Origin,
then followed Well-Creek Trail back to
temple trees hissing in endless winds,
this river lit with regret turning dark.
Wei Ying-wu (c.737-792)
This rural library sounds like it has a spectacular view, and it must be nice hearing the chimes. I hope the thatch is well-maintained to keep the collection dry. The poet indicates that he never finds all the seats taken. I think the path to the library may need better signs. The poet senses a regret. Is it that the library is not more conveniently located?