| 英譯： |
The red sun fills the sky and the earth,
And fiery clouds are packed into hills and mountains.
Grasses and trees are all parched and shriveled;
Rivers and swamps, all utterly dried.
In light white silks I feel that my clothes are heavy;
Under dense trees I grieve that the shade is thin.
My mat of rushes cannot be approached;
My clothes of linen are washed again and again.
I long to escape beyond space and time;
In vast emptiness, dwell alone and apart.
Then long winds from a myriad miles would come;
Rivers and seas would cleanse me of trouble and dirt.
Then would I find that my body causes suffering;
Then would I know that my mind is still unawake.
I would suddenly enter the Gate of Pleasant Dew
And be at case in the clear, cool joy.
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