Every time I have started for the Yellow Flower River,

I have gone down the Blue-Green Stream,

Following the hills, making ten thousand turnings.

We go along rapidly, but advance scarcely one hundred _li_.

We are in the midst of a noise of water,

Of the confused and mingled sounds of water broken by stones,

And in the deep darkness of pine-trees.

Rocked, rocked,

Moving on and on,

We float past water-chestnuts

Into a still clearness reflecting reeds and rushes.

My heart is clean and white as silk; it has already achieved Peace;

It is smooth as the placid river.

I long to stay here, curled up on the rocks,

Dropping my fish-line forever.