Midstream in West River, waves are cut in four.
A peak surges up, a blue battlement's core.
Outside as if carved, inside cracked and split.
Where Yang force births, and Yin force gathers, knit.
It's the fifth or sixth month, blazing hot and high.
Above are fire clouds, beneath ice and snow lie.
Night hues and dawn light wash and blend in play.
Accumulated green and flowing rose fill vale and bay.
Dragon pools show golden sand at their base.
Bird paths pierce clouds, jade steps in space.
Built on peril, soaring void, it follows eye's command.
Rafters and brackets, delicate, firmly stand.
Whirling streams, inverted scenes, none can spy.
Ten-thousand-ren cliffs are born in a short step's eye.
Layers of sunlight climb the golden plaque.
Vermilion pillars, jade steps, a pearl net, intact.
Now sky and sea are clear, winds and waves serene.
Ten thousand homes of Wu and Chu lie in the palm, seen.
Jade towers, mushroom-like roofs, radiant and bright.
Winding rails, deep galleries, receding from sight.
Sea birds at night perch on coral trees.
River flowers at dawn fall on glassy ground with ease.
Sometimes inverted shadows sink to the riverbed.
Myriad forms distinct, light as if washed and spread.
Unaware of towers above the water's face.
They watch doors open and close in the waves' embrace.
Boatmen forget how deep the river flows.
Water gods mistake it for the mortal world they chose.
Suddenly wind rises, waves appear and hide.
Glistening, shimmering, with no fixed shape inside.
Residents gaze at each other, not of mortal sphere.
As if to sun palace or moon cave they drew near.
Truly know, a numinous scene long has its soul.
Its dwellers cannot lack an immortal's role.
On Three Divine Mountains, Penglai Palace stands.
Only in paintings, unmet by human hands.
How can they compare to this divine mountain's hold?
Cool and pure, from dusty noise it's controlled.
I've been to Golden Mountain, walked everywhere.
My dreaming soul long envies the Golden Mountain guest's share.