A traveler's mood, desolate and forlorn,
A poem tube arrives from the river's edge.
Upon hearing this clear jade-like rhythm,
As if seeing emerald screens unfold.
Vast and majestic beyond the clouds,
Soaring and swirling like phoenixes in flight.
The fairy spring veiled by morning dew,
The milk cave's night wind howls and roars.
By the ninth month, ice and sleet already fall;
Through three seasons, no calamity or plague.
In vain, rain moistens the southern fields;
Should age the timber of Deng's forest.
Towering, it pierces the sky like a pillar;
Solemn, it stands as the nation's revered terrace.
High fame brings you nothing but disaster;
True appreciation—could it be so?
Purple canopy leans on pine vines,
Green coins dot the stone moss.
Divine dragons lie hidden, coiled and supple;
White cranes dance with fluffy grace.
Gathering herbs, thick with glossy ganoderma;
Seeking flowers, find apricot and plum.
The alchemist's terrace now remote and deep;
The ancient blue cliffs, lofty and steep.
From the peak's summit, a flying waterfall drops;
On the flat cliff, a withered cedar breaks.
Its grandeur could humble Jiang and Huo;
Its fame needs no borrowing from Liu or Lei.
The monk finds peace in his humble livelihood;
The recluse has ample means for seclusion.
In the clouds, I recognize temple banners;
On the Han River, drunk with goblets and jars.
My wicker gate, just now in dire straits;
My bamboo carriage hinders me from attending.
My ears vexed by worldly affairs entering;
My heart fears the years hastening.
Already I've chanted the 'Five Sighs' song,
Truly no talent of the Three Heroes.
First, I'll take my mind for hills and streams,
And sketch it out, sending it to the Spring Terrace.