I did not know you at first, yet knew your literary art.
Spring breeze blew on my robe, at dusk summoned to palace gate.
Amid the crowd, I caught your words, silently approved—none other.
Just about to lead the Feihuang steed, set it apart from ten thousand steeds.
A slight miss in a moment, spirit dampened, no more discussed.
The great sun shines on all things, I too lingered by carriage dust.
We met by the Fusang tree's side, with one bow, hearts felt close.
If Master Qu indeed came from me, we showed each other without words.
Walking together the thousand-step corridor, reins in hand at Golden Horse Gate.
Returned to the guest lodge, before frequent visits could resume.
An eastern boat carried you away, a thousand li without delay.
Now I sit in Ouyue, gazing at each other like stars Shen and Chen apart.
Suddenly a messenger from the sea came, asking of me by my humble wall.
Received your hundred pieces of writing, reading them brought joy.
The grand pieces already soar with ease, the smaller ones even fresher.
Far beyond the rut of brush and ink, merely traces of chisel marks discerned.
Imagine when first crafting them, as if divine when ink touched paper.
Strive on, do not stop yourself, truly you may glimpse the realm of Qu Yuan.
I, though old, not weary of this, hold them up, boast rare treasures of the age.
Morning chanting, forget the sun's decline; evening chanting, forget the dusk's glow.
Wishing to voice recommendation for you, I laugh at myself—it's not enough to say.