Hills beneath heaven;
On the broad earth, trees—
These things that the small man spurns
The wise shall nourish.
Though I want in the straits of distress,
How should I decline the defenses of virtue?
At my case I draw off the lakes of the west;
My gaze governs the northern waters.
And these ragged hills
That shut not out the coursing sun;
This clear bright pond,
Ruffled in the wind;
Pines that nod from their crags in greeting;
Rocks shining from the river bottom beneath drifting watery mirrors;
Scattered clouds that cloak the summits in shadows;
The half-risen moon which lights the vales,
When from tree to tree dart crying birds:
To these will I abandon, will I entrust my life.
The Great Creator, in the variety of his works,
Blesses as well the lowly and small.
When all philosophy I resolve in this one act,
I may stride the leviathan seas and they will not hold me!
Into the dark heart of all being I shall ride
And dwell in the spacious halls of the ant.
Truly need one seek not beyond his door for wisdom;
Must a man see all mountains and seas to love them?
In these lines have I entrusted
The writing of what my heart has learned.
The banished official
Wine and feasts I followed with the host of officials;
Unworthy, yet I stood in the Court of the Emperor.
With reverence I received the rites of investiture—
