Sweet springs mostly flow from famous mountains' height,
Yet Valley Curtain Spring is ranked the world's first.
The waters of Zi and Sheng are hard to tell apart,
How dare I judge its worth by mere conjecture's art?
Deep within Mount Lu lies the Valley Curtain Spring,
Crossing ridges, piercing clouds, a journey time will bring.
A Taoist, with packed meal, visits now and then,
Strikes flint to brew tea, embracing wildness then.
He orders servants to fetch jars and pots with care,
Truth or falsehood, hard to question, hard to bear.
In this world, who truly knows the taste of things?
Many claim sugarcane sweeter than honey's wings.
So often, true and false in confusion blend,
Following names, we lose the essence in the end.
How like the home-mountain's Lu Zi Spring it seems,
Where from stone cracks bursts the dark dragon's streams.
The hollow mountain holds a belly full of milk,
One branch flows down to feed the Liangxi's silk.
Clear and sweet, it lingers long upon the tongue,
Brewing tea enhances fragrance, old and young.
In grand halls, stone-lined pools are covered and kept,
Enthusiasts draw water, shoulder to shoulder, adept.
Sometimes we set wine upon it, drink our fill,
Drunken, cleanse our lungs from worldly dust and ill.
Sealed and sent afar, no counterfeit it bears,
Rich and poor drink equally, no one despairs.
That one is like a hermit in an empty vale,
This one, a fine guest before the wind's soft gale.
No need to finely compare which taste excels,
But ask: in their abode, which wisdom dwells?