Classic Poem

At break of day my heart is still unquiet,
I dress myself, then stand there hesitating
I hesitate, not knowing where I should go—
A recluse may dwell in a secluded valley
In the morning he culls cress in the southern gorge,
At night he rests at the foot of the western hill
Light branches lace above him like the clouds,
Thick foliage forms a tent of kingfisher-green.
Eddying winds linger in the grove of magnolias,
Their fragrance swirls to meet the graceful trees
The pleasant plashing of the mountain burn,
A waterfall rinsing the singing jade!
Mournful music wells from these magic waters.
Their falling notes echo in coigns of the crags.
Such perfect joy can simply not be feigned,
Why harm the Primal Unity with meddling?
If wealth and renown are difficult to obtain,
Better halt my carriage and do what I want to do.