I Considered Painting Two Flowers
Perhaps wind and rain etch my life in the cliffs,
Or the birds record my solitary promenades.
My courtyard? Clouds and tumbled stone.
Winter melts into forests year by year,
And I number each spring quietly.
Below me great men cast bronze bells,
Carve their names and heroic deeds, and toll
Them forth. The silent cliffs echo my character.
（Peter Stambler 译）
‘Midst layers of cliffs—the place I divined to live;
Up on bird’s trails, cut off from the tracks of men.
What is there by the side of my court?
White clouds wrapped ‘round dark rocks.
I’ve lived here a number of years;
Repeatedly seeing the changing from winter to spring.
I send this message to the families of wealth;
An empty name will do you no good.
（Robert G. Henricks 译）
Towering cliffs were the home I chose
Bird trails beyond human tracks
what does my yard contain
white clouds clinging to dark rocks
every year I’ve lived here
I’ve seen the seasons change
all you owners of tripods and bells
what good are empty names
（Red Pine 译）