US poet Robert Frost's 1914 poem Mending Wall contains the famous "frosty" line — "Good fences make good neighbors". It's perhaps an encapsulation of rugged New England individualism and the fiercely independent spirit of the British settlers who began arriving there on Plymouth Rock on Boxing Day (the day after Christmas), 1620.

The thinking was that after a hard day working in the fields and cranberry bogs, it was reassuring to know that after sunset, a Yankee yeoman could kick back and enjoy their front porch view without pesky, prattling neighbors disturbing their downtime, and that cattle would more likely stay within their owners' confines — all thanks to the fences.

The poem's 1914 publication date is telling too, as that year marked the moment when World War I erupted in much of the world, with the United States being pulled into the global conflict some three years later. At the outset of hostilities, there was a strong isolationist sentiment in the US, where people were happy to stay behind the safety, security and stability of "fences" and tend to their own gardens, as it were.

However, this go-it-alone zeitgeist is far less observable in traditional Chinese society, and therefore in poetry itself, which when done well, is a timely depiction of any civilization at that glimpse in time.

Of course, as China became a majority urban population, probably for the first time in 2011, social observers have decried the petering out of purposeful people-to-people interaction and social graces.

Another bellwether year could be said to be 2005, when the first smartphones became nearly ubiquitous overnight, and young and old everywhere went from "see you at Starbucks" to "see you online".

It was no longer socially awkward to purposely avoid eye contact when passing strangers on a busy street, or to sit across from one another on the subway. In fact, it became increasingly cringeworthy for commuters to even initiate eye contact across a carriage. The thinking was: "What are you looking at, stranger? Don't you have a mini-screen to ogle? Gosh, what a creep."

In a sense, our digital devices became Robert Frost's anti-social "fences", giving us the quasi-privacy and personal space that were suddenly foisted upon us by the digital age.

But it wasn't always this way. Chinese poets and sages have long treasured the "tender mercies" of both strangers and acquaintances in a residential setting.

One of the most illustrative is the famous Chinese saying (author unknown): "One million for a house, 10 million for a neighbor (bai wan mai zhai, qian wan mai lin)."

The cheeky proverb points to the greater perceived value of friendly, reliable neighbors over owning one's own home — at least in pre-smartphone days — with a societal emphasis on the key role of community and relationships in a good life.

Also, the "million" reference might be a tad dated, given the roller coaster ride that housing prices have undergone in the recent past.

Speaking of the past, especially the distant past, Chinese poet Du Fu wrote Qiang Village in the year 757, at a time when a new emperor had taken the throne, and the poet, after being confined inside the city walls of then-capital Chang'an, was finally at liberty to return to his hometown, with love for his family, friends and neighbors buoying his spirit on the road home.

Red western clouds towering and steep

Down below the sun, footprints on the level fields.

Scrap wood doors and gates, sparrows chirping

For a returning visitor from hundreds of miles away.

Wife and children surprised at my appearance

Realizing that I am real, they wipe away their tears.

A chaotic society meets with danger and disarray

Going back now makes life satisfactory and fortuitous.

Neighbors atop the wall fully satisfied

With grateful sighs and tears of joy.

Late evening relief, at midnight my wife and I hold a candle

Facing each other until we sleep and dream.

Luckily, Du's village did not have Wi-Fi that year, so he was able to appreciate the ties that bound neighbors unfettered and unmolested by digital disturbance.

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