I have sailed the River of Yellow Flowers，

　　Borne by the channel of a green stream，

　　Rounding ten thousand turns through the mountains

　　On a journey of less than thirty miles……

　　Rapids hum over heaped rocks；

　　But where light grows dim in the thick pines，

　　The surface of an inlet sways with nut-horns

　　And weeds are lush along the banks.

　　……Down in my heart I have always been as pure

　　As this limpid¹ water is……

　　Oh， to remain on a broad flat rock

　　And to cast a fishing-line forever！