丹水

Rustling and murmuring, on and on it flows,

Paying homage to the sea, never to return.

Merging with clouds, it reaches the Han River's shores;

Spurting like snow, it descends from Shangshan's heights.

Its waves soak the reflection of the fairy maiden's face;

Its ripples hold the Weaver Girl's starry hair.

Drinking gibbons scoop up its clear, full handfuls;

Crossing deer feel its chill seep into their dappled coats.

Northward, its deep channel connects to the Luo River;

Eastward, it rushes perilously to knock at the pass.

Irrigating gardens, it winds like a silken ribbon;

Turning millstones for grain transport, it curves like a ring.

At night, my pillow is startled by its haunting dreams;

In autumn, its banks reflect my sickly face.

Jade-like essence divides the earth's veins;

The Silver River seems to have fallen to the mortal world.

It rinses rocks where azure carp lie hidden;

It collapses banks where white pheasants gather.

After a light rain on the village bridge,

Amidst the riverbank trees in the setting sun's glow—

Emerald floods swell with new duckweed green;

Crimson floats on the ruins of fallen leaves, deep red.

As deputy, I sometimes wash my feet here,

Coming to accompany the leisurely old angler.