I return to the inn at the foot of the Climbing Bean Pass.The smooth skin of the water shines,And the clouds slip over the sky.This is the twilight of dawn and dusk.On the top of Hsi LêngThe hill priest sits in the eveningAnd meditates.Two—Two—Those are the lights of fishing-boatsArriving at the door.
I return to the inn at the foot of the Climbing Bean Pass.The smooth skin of the water shines,And the clouds slip over the sky.This is the twilight of dawn and dusk.On the top of Hsi LêngThe hill priest sits in the eveningAnd meditates.Two—Two—Those are the lights of fishing-boatsArriving at the door.
I return to the inn at the foot of the Climbing Bean Pass.The smooth skin of the water shines,And the clouds slip over the sky.This is the twilight of dawn and dusk.On the top of Hsi LêngThe hill priest sits in the eveningAnd meditates.Two—Two—Those are the lights of fishing-boatsArriving at the door.
I return to the inn at the foot of the Climbing Bean Pass.
The smooth skin of the water shines,
And the clouds slip over the sky.
This is the twilight of dawn and dusk.
On the top of Hsi Lêng
The hill priest sits in the evening
And meditates.
Two—
Two—
Those are the lights of fishing-boats
Arriving at the door.
Wang Ching-ts'êng, 19th Century