Liu Zhou Ge Tou · Heaven Beyond Heaven

Years among the mountains; from far off I recall half a life of wildness. Drew the sword and went; the river lamps spread wide. Walked strange countries, knew what it was to sleep on stone, forced the nine bends of stream and marsh. The pine-surf sounded, sand and gravel scalded, the stars burned bright, I waded the linked peaks, the moon like frost. Ape-shadows dogged my tracks, rainbow rain heaved up waves of cloud, catkins and leaves flew every way. Sails hoisted for ten million li; dream-talk out of a childhood bed. Each thing an ocean, scattering off into the vast and dim.

Going or staying without limit, an even heart gives way. I look out past the sky — just now cool and clear. The lone traveller is let loose, the long world forgotten; reckon the cause as it is due, the fruit is hard to carry off. Below my eyes I climb the height, lean beside the immortals' halls, and draw in the jade fragrance. The wind blows for a while; the langgan fruit comes down; beside the purple spring I step through the Final Gate, my heart turning home toward the Great Way. It keeps me company through the eight directions, yet throws off the mortal world's reckonings; I stand still for the first sun, and the cold cicada cries and cries.