What sort of person

Is that man I've once met

Amid the hills and dales?

In winter he spears trout

In the rapids, and in summer

He rests in shady places;

In autumn he drinks fruit wine

Under the lofty pine,

And in springtime

He makes a fresh start,

All over again.

When asked what

He was doing there,

In the deep mountains

And broad valleys,

He replied all the same,

"Here is my residence."

With the inferior critters

He shares his pleasures,

And they, in their turn,

Enjoy themselves the more.

Though he may not speak

To drink of the poise of his spirit.

He has no real virtue,

But he has knowledge.

If you do not freely

Yield yourself to him,

But employ him on carrying on

His spirit-like characteristics,

You will certainly get upset

And benighted in your realm

Of duties and social obligations.

His influence is not of a virtuous nature,

But it goes to make your virtue less --

It is like heaping on clothes in early spring

As the cold protection, or

Bringing back the chilly winds of winter

During the summer heat.

Standing in association

With his rare guests,

He transforms them till they become

In their feelings towards him --

As sons with a father they are.

His wish is to return to the solitude

Of his own mind, and this is the effect

Of his occasional contacts

With all those who have reached

His remote place -- so far-reaching

Is his impressed on them!