Though the spring moon is bright
Its light is always softly hazy.
Unlike autumn and winter's hues
That press on people with frosty chill.
Fine powder pales the empty wall
Light mist shrouds half the bed.
Its rays part through the forest shadows
Remaining glow climbs the rainbow beam.
Long ill, cut off from worldly affairs
Nights idle, my pure mood grows long.
Hugging my robe, collar askew
I pace in slippers east and west.
Wind-willows form soft ties
Dew-drenched plums waft hidden scent.
Snow holds cherry's bursting buds
Pearls cluster, peaches deck their bower.
Remote, remote, with lingering thoughts
Step by step, how can I forget?
Neighbors are not old acquaintances
No one to speak my heart's true words.
South dwells the recluse Yan
Sitting silently, taming the mind-king.
Knocking at his gate, I ask
He clothes me with his own robe.
Leads me deep into the bamboo
Warms me within his small hall.
Seeing my body like lucent glass
He teaches, pointing to yellow plantain.
There's also the monk Yi
Who long ago spread Nagarjuna's way.
Secret elixir formulas in his mouth
A blue pouch hangs behind his elbow.
Though his tin staff shakes alone
We hope to share the medicine spoon.
Unknown how near or far transcendence lies
Already I feel my spirit lightly soar.
Night deepens, soul restless
Moon bright, dew vast and pale.
Alas, you deeply sleeping scholars
Could you ever see such a fine night?