The Yellow River like a silk thread guides from Kunlun,南下万里 bursting through Yu's Gate.
Its tributaries潜行 beneath heaven and earth, branching into eight courses like thunderbolts奔跑.
I hear rivers and mountains have true masters,何况 this beneficent source opening vast springs.
The dragon god's abode overlooks the flat plain, the temple's appearance majestic for a thousand years.
Deep forests hold the moisture of thunder and rain, the cold hall seems to bear traces of waves.
I came to the southern region through dusty turmoil, heat unwashed, worries and thoughts烦闷.
I tried dipping a hundred cool drafts to wash liver and lungs, one spoonful poured into belly, clear and warm.
Leisurely drying in east wind under corridor's eaves, suddenly I see paintings as if flying high.
Immortal palaces, splendid robes riding vermilion carriages, banners and flags dimly hiding,蛟龙伏在辕下.
The Duke of Thunder and Mother of Lightning tread mist and fog, Tianwu and Haifu drive alligators and giant turtles.
When can I borrow the hand that wields thunderbolts, to倒挽 the Silver River and cleanse heaven and earth?
The old man before the temple looks at me and says: "Young man, it's not easy to push open heaven's gate."
Why such lofty talk as this? With one smile, spring wind fills his warm face.
It was then the third month, travelers numerous, men and women混杂, pipes and drums喧闹.
They cast rushes and sink jade, laughing at spirit's gifts; slaughter beasts and strain wine, passing on shaman's words.
The shaman's words恍惚, the temple door closes; I bow hands, mount horse, mountain mist grows dim.