From the heavens descends a numinous breath,
Concentrated in this millennial crane.
Its nature is serene, pure, and detached,
A heart lofty and aloof, like Bo Yi's own.
It soars and hovers at the edge of purple empyrean,
Drifts and sways by the shores of the azure waves.
It bears the immortal grace of Yue and Zhan,
Its notes, like Jun and Shao music, free of vulgar tone.
Its feathers moistened, pale under moonlight,
Its crown refined, steeped in deep rosy light.
Eyes stream tears like a wanderer by the spring,
Wings droop like the lapels of a feathered sprite.
It ascends the Han, snow a thousand zhang high,
Touches the stream, frost half a xun deep.
Slender beak whets like blue iron,
Long legs carved from jasper green.
It perches on trees by dry mountain streams,
Drinks from low, vermilion springs.
Phoenixes harmonize like xun and chi,
Swallows and sparrows but chirp in discord.
Alone, it raises wings on jasper boughs,
In groups, they dance, tilting the jade grove.
After illness, a stretch of sunset cloud,
Awake from dreams, the sigh of wind through pines.
Quiet, it scorns the parrot's chatter,
Lofty, it laughs at mandarin ducks' amorousness.
Its essence clear, limpid and pure,
Its jade-like frame, cold and austere.
Purity and whiteness are not its boast,
Rankness and filth it cannot bear.
Grain and millet are but necessity,
How could lice and fleas presume to invade?
It recalls Peng's play in the Celestial Pool,
Grieves the phoenix trapped in the cloud net.
Its grace surpasses plain white silk,
Its elegance transcends all rules and admonitions.
In kinship, it fosters enduring Daoist bonds,
By chance seen, it loosens the locked, troubled heart.
Like the Western Han's regret for Feng Tang,
White-haired, wishing to cast off the official pin.
Like the Southern Dynasties' admiration for Wei Jie,
So frail and pure, seemingly too delicate.
Upright as an honest minister in court,
Standing among the crowd, truly admirable.
Incorruptible as a recluse scholar,
Startled by autumn, yet remaining in shade.
How often it mocked the fierce hawk and falcon,
Soon bound by jesses, suddenly confronted.
And scoffed at the greedy duck and gull,
Finally caught by arrow and string.
A carriage ride is but a trifle to it,
An empty cage still worth ten thousand gold.
A wisp of cloud accompanies its distant shadow,
Vaguely, it crosses the misty peaks.
A long gust sends its far-reaching cry,
Erect, it emerges from the frosty anvil stones.
Suddenly it travels to Peng and Ying isles,
Mulberry fields turn to past and present.
Looking down on the court of eight rows of dancers,
It stirs the wind-warmed zither with its鼓舞.