A cavernous rock, vaulted and grand, stands firm mid-river.
The crashing torrent looks down into unseen depths, while giant stones jut out, scraping the sky.
Since chaos first broke, how many tens of thousands of years have passed? Why has all this majesty and grace been lavished on this lone hill?
The Long River comes west for ten thousand miles, carving in mid-air a golden lotus bloom.
Above, a golden immortal dwells; below, the palace of the River God.
Precious temples line up to the heavens; pagoda shadows inverted startle fish and dragons.
At times the great bell's muffled sound through mist, tide-voices join in chorus, driving deafness away.
Birds flying with all their might cannot reach it; I once took a boat right to its cloud-wreathed peak.
Gathering my robe, I paced the towers and pavilions, lifting my head to gaze boundlessly.
The nine regions of Qi reduced to dots beneath my eyes; westwards, Min and E peaks fade into misty sea.
Suddenly I hear a long wind breaking giant waves, all life's petty cares washed clean from my breast.
The mountain monk, overjoyed, greets me with a handshake, calm and unhurried.
He offers Lu Yu's water in a cup, tea steeping in the style of Jade Stream.
The Crane Hermit, a scattered immortal; the Constant Studio elder—arm in arm we laugh, voices blending warmly.
Heaven's wind blows at my sleeves, as if to lift me lightly; where will the drifting white clouds lead?
I know not if the three isles beyond the seas, the joys of gathered immortals, differ from this or are the same.
Now, five or six years since we parted, my boat returns, raising its awning once more.
The mountain spirit, aloof, and I, proud—my dusty heart submerged, I cannot retrace former steps.
With a laugh, my wind-filled sail passes Golden Hill; on the hilltop, sunset, a dark goose flies.