A thousand peaks encircle the prefecture,
Two rivers wind around the city walls.
Always I cherish these fine hills and streams,
How much more now with caverns opened wide.
The river flows for miles, so near,
We moor the boat and climb the rugged heights.
Lingyan astonishes, divine transformation,
Shaded all around, acres broad.
Who built this Buddhist shrine?
Its halls seem set by heaven's hand.
The front pavilion overlooks stream and hill,
Gazing and listening, heart and ears expand.
A path pierces beneath giant rocks,
Jade-green bamboos stand tall with noble joints.
A trickling stream spills into stony gorge,
Stone milk sweet and pure.
To the east lies a smaller cave,
Its portal opens deep and clear.
Embedded rock reveals stone pillars,
Bearing weight, sturdy iron stands.
Men of old met true immortals here,
Hand in hand they viewed golden gates.
On level stream, hearing fowls and dogs,
Then felt the human world apart.
Winding along the clear creek,
Peach blossoms just begin to bloom.
Worldly thoughts yearn for hometown county,
Longing to return like a taut string's pull.
Between waking and sleep, a moment's space,
The cave door now firmly locked.
Time changes like hills and valleys,
Events outlive maps and records.
Only the blue river flows on,
In clear night mirroring the bright moon.
I came in autumn's season,
The air quite bleak and sharp.
Grass and trees naturally wane,
Mountain flowers often bloom anew.
Green radiance enriches the visit's joy,
A different realm, nearly peerless.
At dusk I board the returning boat,
Still gazing toward the forest's edge.