North to Taihang, east to Yu's Cave, I go,
The most wondrous scene in Yandang Mountains lies.
The Great Dragon Waterfall, unmatched below,
Draws ten thousand mouths to praise with the same cries.
Step by step, I tread into the valley's hold,
Crushing mossy trails, my wooden clogs near broken.
Where mountains end and paths break, my strength grows old,
Then I see the Silver River fall, twin peaks' token.
Julu sat long, gazing, never tired of the sight;
Poets fumble for words, in vain their search persists.
Master Xie, for a thousand years, felt deep regret's blight;
Even Li and Du reborn could not exhaust their lists.
I toured Stone Gate, hailed as a scenic delight,
Yet doubted this waterfall's true excellence.
But coming here, the grandeur is a different height,
Stone screens leaning on heaven, ghostly in presence.
The flying spring descends straight from the sky's domain,
The higher its source, the fiercer its roaring sound.
Let it pour like the Three Gorges' torrential rain,
Who here can judge which is superior, profound?
To grasp Yandang's essence, the secret must be found,
To tour all in one day offends the spirit's grace.
The recluse dragon sleeps high, no answer to my sound,
Ashamed, my brush lacks lightning to capture its face.
Vast, desolate, the stream flows calm, without wrath's trace,
Neither mist, nor smoke, nor snow—a unique embrace.
I hear when freezing rain just clears, after the storm,
It spits wind, scattering through the open space.
I long to return after another rainfall's form,
To wash clean a lifetime's fevered, troubled chase.