IN SPRING SAILING ON THE RUOYE STREAM
A reclusive intent never stops,
and hereafter I'll suffer whatever to meet.
Eve breeze blows the ongoing boat,
which following a course flowering enters a mouth of stream.
At night when it turns to the western valley,
beyond the mountain I see the Southern Dipper.
The mist above the water flies and permeates,
while the moon over the woods lowers and recedes.
The career is however drifting,
and would that I were the elder who holds the pole.