Tune: “Sand of Silk-washing Stream”
I visited the Temple of Clear Fountain on the Stream of Orchid which flows westward.
In the brook below the hill there drowns the orchid bud;
The sandy path between pine-trees shows not a trace of mud。
Shower by shower falls the rain while cuckoos sing。
Who says an old man can’t return once more unto his spring?
Before Clear Fountain’s temple the water still flows west.
Why can’t the cock still crow at dawn though with a snow-white crest?