The lovely stream pours through a hundred ravines,
Tilting the myriad peaks, north and south, it seems.
Common hills pile up in vulgar mounds,
Ashamed to show their faces by the shore's bounds.
Suddenly, Stone Gate emerges, fair and bright,
With ancient trees shading the deep pool's light.
Leaving the boat, I enter through the mouth,
And feel already far from the dusty south.
All fragrant plants bow to the cave's abode,
Surrounding ridges offer wonders, richly bestowed.
Vines and creepers wear different airs,
Every inch seems crafted with artistic cares.
Like brocade and emerald woven fine,
They shine with splendor, beyond spring or winter's sign.
The water travels a thousand fathoms high,
Gushing and spraying, endless to the eye.
There's also a basin for washing the hair,
Often sealed by deep clouds and mist in the air.
In bygone years, Xie Kangle made his stay,
Building a dwelling to await his final day.
Successors like Qiu and Pei followed his trace,
Their words, too, claimed a masterful grace.
Remote, a hundred generations later, I'm here,
Not shamed to inherit the poet's atmosphere.
Restless, three robed hermits dwell in this place,
With empty kitchen pots as dusk falls apace.
Cloud seeds rest on the passing oar,
Cleansing my dusty heart, if just for an hour.
I sigh at my long, lingering stay,
Finding solitude hard to keep at bay.
Alas, old and useless I've grown,
Flattering the mountains, an old man alone.
By Huichang's side, I'll build my humble cot,
Where its slope descends to shrimp and fish's lot.
Bamboos I plant look like bundled reeds,
Pines I set seem broken tumbleweeds.
My child plays with pots and bowls in glee,
When will he reach the sage's decree?
I shall dwell here with them, in time's accord,
Helping pound grain, as my humble reward.