Literature is the vessel of the Way,
Poetry is the essence of literature.
Worldly scholars lose the root and source,
Thinking a single branch can sing.
I once was fond of learning,
Not mingling with the vulgar trend.
First seeking for my own affairs,
Within them lay a wish to aid the world.
In stillness, with the ancient moon I stay,
In motion, with the autumn sun I go.
The ancient sage from this found ease,
His grace and style passed down to later lives.
My life and times are both at odds,
Lingering here, what have I achieved?
A hillock lets me dwell at ease,
Ten thousand changes vie to greet me.
Heaven and earth reveal their roots,
Creatures and plants display their nature.
Sun and moon show wonders in the light,
Ghosts and gods shine bright in hidden dark.
Laozi and Buddha are both vague,
The various masters also roam free.
Rise and fall mix past and present,
Worry and joy are hard to calm.
Sometimes I buy white jade tablets,
To write these crimson silk-string tunes.
As if scolded by Heaven's lord,
Monsters startle, coming into sight.
Autumn frost descends on yellow leaves,
Spring winds by themselves draw forth new sprouts.
Orchids await the springtime breeze,
Deep woods hold hidden fragrant blooms.
I hear the worthy assistant magistrate,
Masters ancient learning with elegant music.
And also hear you utter fine lines,
Your spirit carries Suzhou's clarity.
This morning I leave my humble gate,
Not daring to seek lords and nobles.
Our scents are somewhat alike,
Like the tall pine and the poria cocos.