English Rendering
How gaudy does the Temple of Golden Hill glare!
To Huainan spread its beating drum and ringing bell.
What has the Hermit's Hill but bamboo here and there And two or three monks drawing water from the well?
On its deserted shore veiled in dim mist waves beat, Only to seek silk-worms in spring will peasants come.
In Golden Hill I stayed o' ernight to rest my feet. Without seeing Hermit's Hill, how sorry I'd become!
My companions were disinclined to come with me.
Disfavored man alone of whirlpool risk make light.
Waves surge although the morning of the wind is free, Half drunken,I sing in mid-stream with sweet delight.
The old monk comes downhill, surprised to see a guest, And glad to greet his compatriot with a smile.
He says he has forgotten his home-town in the west, Living together with Maitreya on this isle.
He sleeps in a warm paper curtain when tired and cold; Hungry, he likes to eat mountain vegetables sweet.
The mountaineers have suffered hunger since days old; Not greedy, the landless should make good their retreat.
Although I have not been dismissed from office thrice, Yet I know there are seven things I cannot bear.
Soon I will resign for I am not free from vice, I wish to live in thatched temple free from care.
