Heaven dropped the essence of the Northern Dipper, on earth inscribed scenes of bliss.
The rock cliffs cluster seven peaks, vast and dim with primeval hue.
Majestic, pressing on primal chaos, towering, grinding against azure blue.
Within holds a great cavernous hollow, outside cut off from wind and cloud.
A thousand men could find room inside, ten thousand forms beyond surmise.
Gaping wide, revealing its innards, jagged, arrayed like spears and halberds.
Crouching like dragons and tigers asleep, rising like generals and soldiers erect.
A western opening leads to Heaven's gate, empty brightness spans thousands of feet.
Suddenly, a crack to enter, silent, dark, a lamp-lit recess.
So hidden and secret as if concealed, obscure and blocked, impossible to reach the end.
A dragon's bed, a bird's fledgling, just like the trace of a winding snake.
The dragon's well descends to deepest dark, as if draped in primordial curtains.
How could it be ghosts and spirits' mystery? It is but the force of Creation.
The river cold, fierce at water's edge, spring brims, returning sun's law.
Scorching light flows over the great earth, desolate chill enters human bones.
The four seasons revolve primal energy, fit for feasting and again for rest.
All my life, like Xie Kangyue, never abandoning mountain-climbing clogs.
Penglai exists in the human world, the dull forever fail to know it.
The enlightened came to wander in past times, filling the green cliffs with inscribed poems.
Swiftly, years and months deepen, gloomily, mist and glow accumulate.
Who is the one of peerless verse? Fresh and pure, surpassing Yuan and Bai.
If carving stone brings me no share, the numinous marvels I still cherish.
Longing thoughts of fusion's beginning, when the Six Ding split it with ten thousand axes.