The laurel boat cleaving the waves slowly goes by, Mist veils peaks low and high, Green water joins the far-off sky. My pocket with verse and rhyme is filled up, In high spirits I drink in my golden cup
The willow down and flowers in flight tease my eye, A soft breeze blows in the vast sky, Through green bamboo invites me to the door? I moor my boat at sunset and go to the shore.