Night's radiance shines clear and chill,
The jade source bears the round, broken will.
Before the sun spreads its feathered light,
Five hues first glow in the cinnabar site.
Pines and cypress rise from gorge and stream,
While other trees stand bare, a ragged seam.
When but an inch of green they show,
Their spirit already scorns ice and snow.
In eastern house where children play,
Dishes and stands are set in array.
No need for infant's cry to sound,
Their noble mark is startlingly profound.
You, a veteran of three reigns' span,
Your spirit towers over myriad men.
Statecraft's gift from Emperor's hand,
Meeting fate, not forced by planned.
A boat made, yet no long river flows,
Clouds gather, a drought dragon shows.
East wind blows on Fusang's tree,
Dawn's colors open vast vacancy.
All your life, a hand to turn heaven's tide,
Alone you wait by Kunwu's chariot side.
Halt the whip, ease the urgent beat,
Swing your arm, break the layered gloom's heat.
Spring returns within your palm's command,
Stroking till the thick earth feels warm and grand.
Your body equals the great earth's span,
All things seem small as a cricket's clan.
Mount Hua you bear, yet feel no weight,
Shake seas and rivers, none dissipate.
The common folk trust your returning fate,
Grass and trees rely on you to grow straight.
Creation sees you through from start to end,
The flowing years find it hard to age and bend.
I've heard the Song tripod now stands complete,
Yet not by feather-light force can it be fleet.
This is the image of your noble state,
Not just to mark a minister's fate.
Sit and watch fullness without overflow,
The jade hook knows no change or overthrow.