Tall pines chant in the wind,
Rain falls lightly at dusk.
East Cloister is half-shut,
West Cloister is locked.
I walked through mountains all day
Yet met no people;
The perfume of wild plum blossoms
Fills my sleeves.

The resident monk laughs at me
For being so enamored of pure scenes.
He dislikes the remoteness of mountains,
But he cannot leave.

Though I love the mountains,
I, too, laugh at myself.
Solitary withdrawal can harm the spirit,
It would be hard to carry on.

How much nicer, on West lake,
To drink fine wine,
The scents of red apricots and green peaches
Filling the hair.