| 英譯： |
They say there is a monk on Tai-pei mountains,
Floating like scent, three hundred feet beneath the sky.
Once with his scriptures he hid himself in the middle peak,
And he has scarcely been seen by those who hear the ringing bell.
His metal stick once parted two tigers in a death struggle:
Now it lies against the window. Under his bed a jar contains a dragon.
His clothes were made of weeds and leaves; his ears
Touch his shoulders, and his brow hangs over his face.
No one knows his age. Only the green pines planted
By him cannot be ringed around by ten arms.
His mind is as clear as a flowing river.
His person, like clouds, knows neither right nor wrong.
Once an old man of Shang Shan met him,
But I can find no way through these untrodden heights.
Still in the mountains lives this unknown monk.
The townsmen do not know him: they look in vain to the melting blue sky.
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