On the day you return to Stone Gate, the Red Fire star begins to shift the woods.
If spring grass had feeling, the mountains would still hold green.
Snapping off a fragrant sprig, ashamed of distant memory; the long road ahead demands self-exhortation.
Seeing an old friend's heart from afar, this alone satisfies my whole life.
The vast sea accepts a hundred streams; the Qilin Pavilion holds many talents.
Presenting writings at the golden gate, sipping sweet wine at jade feasts.
Often I shame the 'White Cloud' songs, reverently hearing the 'Yellow Bamboo' verses.
Imperial favor shines on my clumsiness and shallowness, hoping to soar to the Cloudy River.
If fame on tripods is to be pursued, then the flat boat to cinnabar is just a distant dream.
I remain at the Golden Gate; you go to recline in the Cinnabar Ravine.
Our Three Isles rendezvous unfulfilled, I distantly rejoice in your single hill's joy.
The Dark Pearl entrusted to the Net of Nothingness; the Red Waters are not desolate.
I wish to befriend gulls of the Eastern Sea, together tend Western Mountain herbs.
You dwell in cliffs, in stillness and extinction; I remain in the world, a dragon in hiding.
Fine hours we cannot share; long days should be spent in idle dwelling.
Birds sing in trees by the eaves; flowers fall on books beneath the window.
Following the stream, I see green bamboos; past the ridge, glimpse red lotuses.
Gathering ferns, walking, laughing, singing—how unending is my fondness for you!
The moon emerges between stone mirrors; pines murmur in the wind's lute.
Attaining the mind, naturally empty and wondrous; external things are vain and decaying.
Body and world as if both forgotten, I'll follow you to grow old in misty waters.