The sixth year of the new reign, my clan governs Tongchuan.
I came to pay homage, the next year after the decree.
It was spring's third month, flowers swarmed around the town.
Mist coils like million coils, pinned with golden hairpins.
Given a Taoist lodge, a couch placed in east wing.
The courtyard hums with green trees, the hall shapes an old immortal.
My nature loves stillness, coming here more ethereal.
Burn incense to the true image, wash hands to open sacred texts.
New Ding's mountain horns sharp, Black Dragon alone towers.
Unless on clear pure days, the dark cliff's peak unseen.
Above, clouds-grasping peak; below, gorge-spurting spring.
The spring splits dozens of branches, each fall splashes and murmurs.
Cold sounds enter deep drunk, clamor breaks west window sleep.
With staff I rise alone to seek, just east of the wall.
Call lad for baskets and spades, straight dig through moss and mold.
A gushing stream cascades down, a silk sash slanted across.
Rough rocks tossed in disarray, cold currents splash and ring.
Wild torrent of Seven-League Rapids, shrunk before sparse pillars.
Splashing blooms half scatter, bubbling foam flies in spinning rounds.
Force bound like Three Gorges' hang, pouring down a lone steep path.
Once heard of Jade Pool's flow, also watered vermilion grass fields.
Wild ducks play with emerald buds, phoenix chicks dance in crimson mist.
Riding wind turns cassia oars, through fog gallops rhinoceros boat.
Moreover at Dark Origin's house, once wrote the Classic of the Way.
Highest good compares to water, this text joins five thousand words.
If spirits dwell herein, would they hate faint ripples spread?
Not meant to fight each drop, but should meet spreading waves.
Out the gate again flying arrows, combined force floats in blue sky.
Surely there's a truth-seeker, deer cap, crane's autumn face.
If he can aid my will, daily clear its source.