| 英譯： |
Blowing me, a roamer, the mountain breezes are not bland;
Among the perilous crags I climb to a fairyland.
Between the hills there is hidden a terrace like a hall,
And similar to the piled iron is the steep wall.
The meandering pathway leads to the cope of heaven;
By nature's force, the giant rocks and the thick earth are cloven.
The boscage of bamboos stretch as far as one can see;
The snowcaps set against the sky since the world's age is wee.
Now plodding on the hard and long bottom of the valley.
We travellers feel oppressed with the weary sally.
The spreading sheets of ice cover the surface of the brook;
My horse is confronted with fracture of leg at the crook.
We are living in the times reigned by bows and arrows;
And banditti are still running amuck to sow sorrows.
For more than three years I'm like the fleabanes in the air rolling,
Looking backward, I feel my liver and lungs are boiling.
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