In the far distance, the mountains seem to rise out of the river;

Two peaks, standing opposite each other, make a natural gateway.

The cold colour of the pines is reflected between the river-banks,

Stones divide the current and shiver the wave-flowers to fragments.

Far off, at the border of Heaven, is the uneven line of mountain-pinnacles;

Beyond, the bright sky is a blur of rose-tinted clouds.

The sun sets, and the boat goes on and on—

As I turn my head, the mountains sink down into the brilliance of the cloud-covered sky.