By the Xiang River, at the mountain's edge
West has a pine temple, east bank has none.
Pine wind sways for miles, unbroken stretch
Bamboo spring pours into the monks' kitchen.
Grand beams and pillars, what's there to prize?
Mountain temples rarely have mountain springs.
In all seasons, only summer dares not enter
How dare the Candle Dragon pause even briefly?
What's planted in Elder Yuan's pond?
Beneath green silk fans, red-scaled fish swim.
Incense hall drums the great Dharma at dawn
Heavenly palace turns the Tripitaka by night.
Wildflowers won't grow in the market streets
Pheasants call to each other, drinking and pecking.
Monk returns past golden rails, step by step, his shadow
Stone basin splashes water, pearls linking.
North-facing high place, noon sun blazing
Raise hand wishing to touch the golden crow.
Distant river, big boats smaller than leaves
Far village, mixed trees neat as vegetables.
Where is Tanzhou's city wall?
East side, a stretch of blue, blurred.
Now and past, people fill the ground
Toil unfinished, return to mounds.
Changqing's gate long desolate
Five- and seven-word lines boast scale.
I chant Du Fu's poems, purity to the bone
Why must ambrosia be needed for initiation?
White sun doesn't shine on Leiyang County
Heaven dooms to death by hunger and cold.
Pearls and great cowries nearly gathered all
Clamshells litter Red Sand Lake, empty.
Now my inscribed poem also lacks flavor
Cherishing worthies, viewing past, long sighs.
Better to cease, cross the river
Already a fine moon lights the way back.