Feng Yue a leisurely idle body, why not Baifa Ming alive.
　　Bamboo Trail as people do not speak the old, Jian Qin, Hong and water all clear.
　　Pass on to bring the old Yan Sun, put pen to paper with a line of new monk.
　　It was Huchuang two relative, green lights in listening to Qiusheng.

　　东风日日恼吟魂，相与论心客在门。
　　雨洗花光红透骨，风摇野烧翠留痕。
　　荣枯过眼归春梦，醒醉从人付酒尊。
　　输与先生专一壑，闲来得看竹生孙。

　　年来触事绝尘想，夜梦有时缘故人。
　　何日秋风归兴动，桂花香里着吟身。

　　怀人渺渺数重山，风月将秋入梦寒。
　　疑有清风生羽翼，去随明月倚栏干。

　　Study poetry as Xuechan, in view of the wonderful you.
　　Carve the lung liver drama, is awakened from his chisel.
　　Yu Ming as the heart, but what things for Vision.
　　Empty mountains, scattered clouds, according to Yang to avoid the early days.
　　Kuang view the universe, shining with the Hui Yao.
　　But this reasonable argument, and since poetry dishes.
　　View held by Q empty, silent but smile.