The path to Deer Gate Temple leads to Penglai,
Vast and misty, the Han River crossing lies.
The river's course stretches far and wide,
This road remains the same through ancient and modern days.
Virtuous Duke, weary of the mundane world,
The old couple chose this place to retire.
Their noble spirit can still be imagined,
Like a leopard hidden in mist for a thousand years.
With lofty spirit, I circle the town on my return,
My lean horse seems to carve exquisite verses.
Old grass covers the desolate mounds,
Cold brambles startle fleeing hares.
Once I longed to climb these heights,
In deep winter, when all was frozen hard.
This journey fulfills my wish,
Yet mid-spring suddenly nears its end.
Leaning on my staff, I ascend the green ridge,
Sighing, I pity my aging steps.
Above the clouds, I find a perilous pavilion,
Overlooking the world, cleansing worldly desires.
Looking down on green woods of wormwood and shepherd's purse,
I discern painted red trees like embroidery.
Other mountains gleam with patches of jade,
The winding river glistens with dew at sunrise.
My life is worn by old worries and woes,
My heart stores a hundred cares.
Gazing upon the universe,
I suddenly awaken, forgetting outward cravings.
Ahead lies the ridge of ten thousand pines,
Emergreen cliffs stand facing each other.
A gentle breeze touches slender branches,
Ethereal sounds rustle through the forest.
The brick path winds around perilous peaks,
Fresh air invades the bamboo sedan.
They say this ancient temple ground,
Had halls and terraces arranged like scales.
But one day disaster struck,
Beams and pillars all turned to torches.
Broken walls pile ashes and embers,
Especially where gold and jade once shone.
The mountain monks diligently hew and build,
The hall's frame roughly stands complete.
With servants numbering ten thousand fingers,
Labor follows every command.
Perhaps ghosts will move the sluice gates,
Manifesting aid to uphold and protect.
Alas, I, born after hidden sages,
Have bones destined for the Way by heaven.
Once distracted by thoughts of fame and merit,
I mistakenly fell into worldly dust.
My hoary head shows early white strands,
My dark face bears the marks of time.
Only a bright and clear heart remains,
Enlightened since times of old.
I shall borrow these rocky valleys,
To spend my old age, leaving official hat and shoes.
Steaming clouds as food, blue essence as meal,
Boiling stones to make taro soup.
My spirit roams beyond the eight extremes,
Reciting the "Ode to the Great Man."
The roc may plan to fly south,
I'll ride the Langfeng breeze for you.