These mountains hide many secluded wonders—

All climbers always come to be struck with awes.

The moon's disc shines in the transparent waters

Of the mountain brooklets, the rapids are vying

With each other in telling the cock-and-bull tales;

The winds blow, waving and swaying the sedges.

When the season passes the aged withered plums

Become bloomed over again with snow; bare trees

Are filled with pink clouds for their shaggy crowns.

After the rain touch everything around is refreshed

And vivid; if it is not a sunny day, no one come up

To see me in mid air. My life stands still between

Climbing up and climbing down, my delights and

My woes, a nightingale’s warble and a tiger’s roar.