I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers，

Borne by the channel of a green stream，

Rounding ten thousand turns through the mountains

On a journey of less than thirty miles……

Rapids hum over heaped rocks；

But where light grows dim in the thick pines，

The surface of an inlet sways with nut-horns

And weeds are lush along the banks.

……Down in my heart I have always been as pure

As this limpid water is……

Oh， to remain on a broad flat rock

And to cast a fishing-line forever！