By Sword Pond, a recluse of rare grace
Came to my place, discoursing on the Way.
He claimed to have left the dusty world's race,
Content and knowing where his steps should stay.
His lofty spirit brushed the clouds and haze;
His noble will was set on streams and hills.
He'd emulate the hermit Tao's free days,
And follow Master Red Pine's timeless skills.
I, hearing but the fringe of his deep lore,
Felt joy arise within my heart's core.
I longed to probe the source, to learn much more,
But time, alas, was short—I could not soar.
He spoke of Tongbo Mountain, looming near,
And planned to go there, seeking truth sincere,
To visit ancient sites, both far and dear,
And soon return, his mystic quest made clear.
But once he left, no tidings came my way;
I asked each traveler if they'd seen his day.
They said he would not come back, come what may—
His carriage westward pointed, far away.
He turned his mountain sandals, meant for height,
To tread the Chang'an streets, in worldly light.
I heard he lingered there, delaying flight,
And still postponed returning to his site.
He must have knocked on doors, a suppliant's part,
Begging for favor, bearing shame in heart.
Even if a fine post he could secure,
The loss he'd suffer would be far from pure.
Alas! Who studies immortality
Like you, so few in true sincerity?
The hidden swan should soar on heaven's sea,
But who'd have thought your deeds would turn this key?
You bear the name 'Lazy Nest,' yet you stray
Into the whirlpool's swirling, busy fray.
Now I know: hearing empty words won't pay—
Better to watch the plain steps of the way.
Perhaps Heaven loves you, in its own design,
And sets your path where you must intertwine,
Fearing you'd sink in obsession's dark line,
And from the Dao's true course you would decline.
Thus Heaven slightly troubles you, to test,
That you may keep your final years at rest,
And firm your steadfast heart, from east to west,
Forever free from worldly thoughts' unrest.