People see me guarding solitude, say a life thus gains no good.
I then chant verses of solitude, knowing time is not spent in vain.
Not wasting time requires effort, though few grasp this saying's worth.
Those who know walk the same path, how can they stumble in thorns?
Boundless thorns, where is the edge? All for the clamor that fills the day.
The clamor's boundless reach unseen, alas, the truth is truly told.
Echoing the tale, yet unheard, like a lamp covered by a bowl.
All know light exists within, yet looking, it seems dim and dark.
Dimly, a whole life passes by, like grains of sand, countless they are.
Just like a fish swallowing the hook, or a bird caught in a net mid-air.
This affliction's root is truly deep, vast in all directions, far and wide.
Suddenly, lost in sickness and death, hard to shed worldly toil, weeping sadly.
Sad weeping and lament bring no gain, only dwelling in a house of pain.
When this time comes, regret is late, cloud and mud cannot seek solitude.
Solitude, in the cosmos' depth, is the finest; chanting long, reclining in a quiet hall.
Not fearing cold wind blows leaves down, nor worried frost blankets the grass.
But see the pine and bamboo's winter heart, through four seasons unchanged, clear notes flow.
Spring and summer, briefly shaded by trees, autumn and winter show the lush tall woods.
Thus know the world has hard and soft, why must the mind cleave pure from foul?
Coarse fare in two meals, let fate decide, a body merely clad in cloth and fur.
Following wind and waves, east or west, why fret if earth is narrow, sky is low?
People now mistake it for wrong, but I am clear and not confused.
To be unconfused needs an unconfused mind, shallow to see, deep in use.
If this true pearl you can obtain, unlike a woodcarter bearing gold.
Gold refined by fire turns to true, the bright pearl holds light, not shown to men.
Understanding, a hair-tip holds vast sea, then know the great earth is a speck of dust.
Dust-speck's existence is not without flaw, don't abandon this side for that.
Just like searching sky for bird tracks, only then get mystery within mystery.
Raise one example, all is known, why need verbose explanatory words?
Only see the hungry come for food, never heard drink chases a thirsty man to death.
Many speak of the Way but don't walk it, others unawakened, feign clarity.
A three-inch sharp blade opens a wide road, ten thousand thorny bushes crowd the body.
Worldly dregs, vast and unknown, vainly pour profound subtleties from eloquent mouths.
Such a thing unfit for great use, through countless lives, a pauper remains.
Briefly writing of solitude, matters run deep; Zhong Ziqi could hear Bo Ya's lute.
A Taoist knowing the tune points to his palm, thus valued is the name 'Song of Solitude'.