No colored ribbons adorn thee,
O Still erect Statue, when will your edges crumble?
Pillar of profundity, careful deliberation, and virtue,
Behind you, we have followed in two rows of cattle,
And just out of your eternal periphery,
Embroidered men ascend these steps to both ends.

Present me to Goodness and Purify Me,
That I may be in discipline and endure,
Be tranquil and sincere for a sinecure,
Whose root we must protect for spring,
As naturally as your folded hands.

The heart that has the royal sway,
Will bend the kingdom in two plays, first,
A thousand catties weighed
Out of petty cleverness and indulgence,
Ignores the sage and moral deference.

Ren, serenity, or blind luck:
By which of these did your words prevail?
The Way out the door, now locked
In the curve of your honest smile,
Is kept in secret investigation;
By lamplight we study the tip of Autumn hairs.

Drinking the waters of the Will of Heaven,
The Middle, choking sonorously, neglected,
Believe they must carry the Mountain
Over the North Sea, or break a branch,
Or consecrate a bell with blood.

O Master, your stone facade
Was once Heaven’s wooden tongue, bereft
Of pretense in discourse. What waters sipped
That very tongue, to keep you in daylight
And away from artifice dreaming?

Present me to Goodness and Purify Me,
Virtue and filial duty, like the mulberry,
Must be pruned before the same wind
Whose force is felt over the mountain,
Blows silken harmony over the sea in symmetry,
And uproots the bulky tree.