The Tiao Stream's waters shake the empty hills,
The Zha Stream's waves flow on without repose.
Above, a lofty hall shades splendid eaves,
Where verdant hues run wild between the beams.
In other times, a guest's heart joys in vastness,
With egrets and herons, hoping to come and go.
Loosening my cap, reclining on a pillow, I go where I please,
Why ask again if dwelling among barbarians?
Mountain light, sharp and clear, towers like a screen,
The water's sound, a gurgling, shakes jade rings.
Just as a bright mirror, freed from its dusty case,
Gathers all things to the eye, awakens the face.
Autumn winds are high, the angelica old,
Weaving lotus, crafting orchids, patterns mottled.
Soul clear, spirit fresh, I play with the bright moon,
Dongting Lake is but a step away, not hard to seek.
Whether gods and immortals exist is not to be believed,
The scene but startles, as if not of the mortal world.
What, after all, are jade palaces and purple mansions?
A distant, vague longing makes one shed tears.
A long pole, a single cocoon, one can grow old thus,
What use is galloping in hunts with heavy rings?
Moreover, our countrymen discuss literature and ink,
The "Airs" and "Elegantiae" need no Confucius to edit.
The Prime Minister's verses, the Top Scholar's brush,
Their lofty, divine compositions are beyond my reach.
Alas, why am I thus mired in worldly dust,
Unable to follow the white gulls and silver pheasants?
In wild drunkenness, I ask my two or three companions,
How does the fishing rock in Wu Stream compare to stubbornness?