Qiantang is three thousand li from the capital, its scenery free to behold.
Pearls glow on the night shore, fireflies leave no shadow; hawks perch in autumn woods, birds lose their formation.
Yesterday I saw you personally wield the brush, a black dragon flying on patterned paper.
Who carelessly broke them, leaving a mess,辜负了春风's nurturing affection?
Plum blossoms bearing snow fly onto the lute, willow hues with mist enter the wine.
Where Ruan Ji whistled, people stroll under the moon; where Zi You gazed, birds roost in mist.
White birds are lost among mountain peonies, rouged courtesans envy the water crabapples.
Today on Mount Hua's autumn peak, I hear a long cry reaching the vast sky.
Heavenly winds send forth new sounds, not letting passing clouds cross the Phoenix Tower.
Yesterday in the celestial palace they played music, all six bureaus' strings and pipes were renewed at once.
Good tales spread because of breeze and moon; what shatters sorrow's gut is the wine cup.
On the Gusu Terrace, amid mist, flowers, and moon, how could one辜负 the sounds of spring wind, flute, and pipe?
The jade wheel, the low moon, mid-heaven dawns; golden bells ride the wind, an autumn in the upper realm.
Carefree in a bamboo hut beyond the dusty world, under a sky full of cloud and moon, all is clear and void.
Words like dredging rivers that flow to the great sea; precepts like an autumn moon hanging in the long sky.
In the golden hall, under the moon, watching them pound herbs; in the jade tower, amid the wind, listening to flutes play.