An Incident Recorded in the Mountains to the tune of the Moon Palace
Wu Xiyi Mooring at the door shaded by willows is the orchid-engraved boat.
The smoky fog drowns the fisherman's palm-leaf overcoat.
The fishing hook hanging idle in the water the gentle wind blows,
The white cloud round mountain rocks slowly flows.
In the mountains gaunt trees grow,
Beyond the village bridge disappears the sunset glow.
I lower my head thinking, in hand a history book,
Asked about worldly affairs, back in silence I look.
The drunken moon is there, clear and high,
The water around the rock is heard to murmur and sigh.
The water can purify my feelings well,
My melancholy, the flowers can dispel.