I bow in reverence to the white cloud.
To find pleasure in life, make the most of the spring.
Heaven is high, Earth Wide. Bitter between them flies my sorrow.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden; They hurt me. I grow older.
The living is a passing traveler; The dead, a man come home.
You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain; I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care. As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown, I have a world apart that is not among men.