I drink my carefree wine, and sing my carefree song.
I come to Carefree Pond to play with the bright moon, and cleanse my myriad worries, refreshing liver and spleen.
All lifelong pent-up feelings now open wide; I wish to leave the world, transcending the silent void.
Holding my cup, I ask this pond's water: where did you come from, and where do you go now?
Overturned Boat Mountain towers cold and steep; from Jade Spring it flies down to Eastern Heaven's Pool.
Dividing streams, it rushes hundreds of miles, straight to the deepest gorge, pooling clear ripples.
Mirror-flat, a hundred fathoms, a bottomless cave; below, in deep darkness, coiling dragons lie.
Orchids and fragrant herbs tangle on islets; shadows soak cold in the reflection of withered pine branches.
A thousand turns, ten thousand bends, it flows to the sea; waves surge and spray, the lonely city imperiled.
Tide rises, water fills; tide ebbs, it dries; Penglai's clear shallows shift in a fleeting moment.
This sorrow and the water, both without end; those of old have gone, and those now grieve.
Have you not seen? At Mochou Mountain, spring waters stretch long; painted boats and drumbeats follow one another.
Pale mist and fragrant grass stretch beyond the gaze; Stone City lies in ruins, leaving empty banks.
Not like this pond, nestled only in hills and streams; though wondrous sights abound, none know of them.
When did rouge and powder ever gleam on these clear waters? Only the fisherman's oar-song is heard.
One song ends, dusk mountains turn to jade; autumn wind chills the hair at both my temples.