I climb the Gusu Terrace high,
And point with a smile at the stream flowing by.
The water comes from Lake Tai's ancient source,
Its antique hue mirrors the clear course.
Tomorrow I'll set sail and go,
Where shores are mixed with fragrant plants in a row.
Winding through countless bends, the stream proceeds,
And all that meets the eye delights and pleads.
A thousand acres of ripe rice turn gold,
Autumn dyes the four hills in purple bold.
Sparse bell sounds cross the pond's expanse,
Green tavern signs pierce the wild market's chance.
Suddenly struck by a surge of grace,
A steep rise bursts from the level space.
A soaring pavilion tops the wood,
And arched rocks fill the mountain's foot where they stood.
Lifting my robe, I climb the deep trail,
Where cicadas' shrill cries my ears assail.
Through gaps in trees, a distant view appears,
I wish to advance, yet halt with fears.
When was this Buddhist palace built so grand?
Its golden splendor shines, hand in hand.
The upper hall drinks in the lake's light,
A thousand miles clear as a whetstone bright.
How graceful stands the central peak alone,
Right before me like a mat well-known.
On vast sands, gulls and egrets faintly show,
As water falls, fish and dragons come and go.
Clouds wreathe the land of Helü's old reign,
Grass hides the forts of Yue, now faint and vain.
The Lute Terrace overlooks the Fragrant Way,
No thought of former kings' lavish display.
This mountain has stood since ages past,
How could such beauty ever be surpassed?
An old pine alone lies firm in rest,
Its roots and trunks entwined in steadfast test.
Calmly it watches waves of time roll by,
Loving this verdant hue that will not die.
I've lingered here for three full days,
And left deep matters to my travel's phase.
To grasp its essence—is there an end?
I note this climb, a memory to send.