In youth I galloped across the land, my steed's hooves treading boundless sand.
Northward I passed the sunset's rim, and climbed the rugged Taihang's brim.
Through constellations high I soared, on vast seas my lone boat was poured.
Five Lakes and Pengli I did spy, where scaled dragons in deep waters lie.
Great waves like drums and bells did sound, fierce clams built pearl towers on the ground.
Fish of all kinds swam to and fro, waterfowl dipped where cold streams flow.
The roc soared past the storks in flight, midst fragrant herbs in woods so bright.
Gaudy reds and greens in fine array, by winding streams tall bamboos sway.
Old pines and cypress in wind cry, osmanthus, maple, orange dye.
Immortals drunk on nectar sweet, with rainbow banners phoenix meet.
Jade pendants hung on cloud-high towers, ethereal music, not of ours.
I longed to follow, but no time found, till yesterday paintings spread around.
I gazed at old scenes, heart in haze, southern hills in sun, western frost's glaze.
Sullen clouds bring rain and snow's might, change is swift, no constant light.
Towering pavilions stand in view, far peaks pierce beams carved fresh and new.
Merchants ride, boys tend their sheep, ox carts and boats on faint lines creep.
Grey geese bathe in waves without a sound, a second glance—they might be bound.
Why is the steed left by the road? Though old in bone, its spirit showed.
Chrysanthemums blaze on Double Ninth Day, yet peach and apricot dare display.
A plum branch breaks off on its own, half the fence seems with faint scent sown.
Palace windows with silk and green, a beauty dwells, fair and serene.
Pearls, butterflies, golden ducks in pair, one glance from youth brings deep despair.
In Penglai Palace time slows its pace, the world sees many seasons' trace.
Their joy seems endless, far and wide, the chess game's winner yet untried.
An old monk sits in meditation deep, holding a whisk, on mat asleep.
As if he's reached the truth supreme, but I know it's an empty dream.
Thus I see the painter's skill is flawed, yin and yang in disorder awed.
Ghosts and monsters cannot hide, inches to miles no measure bide.
Seas and mountains cramped on silk so fine, objects weep, fearing axe's line.
Noble homes crave it, hearts in haste, with brocade rolls and red silk encased.
You too love it, cannot let go, but if heart's not drowned, what harm to show?
Now with you I climb the high hill, watching lands and skies at will.
Books and histories shine bright, before Tang Yu, Fuxi's ancient light.
With Confucius, Mencius, Zhuangzi near, day and night, reverence sincere.
Discussing rise and fall, right and wrong, despising Han and Tang as not strong.
In the wilds of Nothingness we stay, how shall we find our joyful way?