The flood may not wash mountains away,
How can a separate isle in the mortal world stay?
At midnight, the Fusang tree spits fiery light,
A bronze dragon flies in broad daylight.
First hearing of this, I'm shocked and amazed,
Could such tales from distant barbarian lands be raised?
I try to check records and maps for proof,
The mountain's chronicles are all there, aloof.
With a stick, I gladly walk the mountain trail,
No more worry that fine views would fail.
Towers and terraces stand cut off from men,
Peaks and ridges circle back to heaven again.
Leaning on the void, I gaze into the deep,
Two mountains face the sun-viewing peak.
Then I know clouds float and mountains float more,
Two mountains rest on three, as never before.
Common eyes have never seen such a sight,
Strange and wondrous shapes in infinite light.
I suspect the magic caves are national treasure,
Not needing craftsmen's care or measure.
The red cliff's Buddha trace is but a small part,
Heaven-fixed, this famed mountain plays a world's part.
War once raged, as at Mawei we've heard,
A hundred-foot altar remained unstirred.
Sitting there, the Taoist lost in a smile,
The nation's fate vanished like smoke, in a while.
The ancestral temple rites are held year by year,
Blessed foundations and lands keep drawing near.
May this mountain compare to the Southern Peak,
My song records its corners, unique.