望灵山

Mountains recorded since ancient times, revered and grand;

This mountain, I trust, is a remnant of that sacred land.

I recall coming from the western river's flow;

In a daze, delighted to see it, feelings grow.

At first I thought a spring rain had cleared the sky;

Clouds and forms emerged in wondrous shapes, passing by.

Gradually facing cliffs and walls, sheer and steep;

Densely confronting ridge upon ridge, in a heap.

In disorder like rows of screens, they stand arrayed;

Scattered like continuous curtains, softly displayed.

Vast and majestic across a thousand miles' span;

All scenes seem to rush and run, as if they can.

Quite surprised, as if the earth's axis surged in might;

Yet heaven's pillar seems not diminished in height.

Not yielding to Kunlun's lofty, towering crest;

It makes Mount Tai and Hua seem moved, put to test.

Seventy-two peaks in number, standing there;

Rugged and piled, their forms roughly I can declare.

Viewed together, they cluster like Buddha's hair-knot tight;

Gazed from afar, they congeal like moth-eyebrows' light.

Some large as overturned bells or tripods, broad and wide;

Some fine as sharp knife points or awls, with edges that guide.

The stone cabinet, how high it soars, a stair to the sky;

A staircase to heaven, this serves as its steps on high.

Like galloping iron horse herds, in tumult they race;

Among them, a general's banner finds its place.

Its position as weighty as ten thousand stones' might;

Its aura presses down like piled eggs, a perilous sight.

Heroic and fierce, beyond description's art;

Clear and deep, it still retains a graceful part.

Dragons guard the steepest paths, where few dare tread;

Plants forget the four seasons, by the mountain led.

Who would know a crystal palace lies within;

Secluded, hidden, where deities guard and begin.

The shady cliff, what spirit does it hold, so dire;

Even with neck severed, one dares not mourn or tire.