Cloudy Stream originates from Cloudy Gate,
For ages flowing past the foot of Yue's hills, great.
Though the city's gold and river's jade are far away,
Waves from the south still crash and surge in disarray.
For thirty miles, steep cliffs and bluffs stand high and sheer,
Where emerald mists and purple haze shroud waters clear.
Gulls and egrets come and go, chasing wave crests white,
While fish and dragons dive and weave through rocks in flight.
In peaceful times, a traveler moored his boat with ease,
Roaming the stream each day, whistling in the breeze.
Slowly teaching frosty wings to chase a pure tune's art,
Casually casting light lines where blue waters part.
Sometimes drunk, he'd lie at ease, oars resting still,
Unaware his boat was borne by woodcutter's wind up the hill.
He'd ladle the clear dawn air from a thousand peaks,
And listen to my myriad ravines where cold spring murmurs and speaks.
For no reason, he'd prick his ears to the phoenix's song,
Then mount a blue simurgh to the Jade Capital strong.
Lingering where cassia's autumn hues for three months stay,
He'd miss the midnight voice of pines in cold array.
Ten years north and south, in restless turmoil tossed,
Yet the stream's head, so close, was never crossed.
How many dreams returned him to that former day?
Awake, he'd doubt if clouds still filled his arms in play.
Now held by rivers and seas, in distant lands confined,
He bows for meager grain, with servile mind.
On the hilltop, sunset shows clouds returning home,
He wonders at his own life, why so cramped a dome.
The black eagle flies ten thousand miles in one sweep;
The flood dragon needs no ditch or pond to keep.
When wind and moon are fair, his heart is like still water,
Whistling and singing can but ease his laughter.