"Qinyuanchun: Climbing Yueyang Tower"
Baling's beauty, its splendor abounds, a journey together in late spring.
The wind is clear in Yunmeng, the rain has cleared at Junshan; the sun rises on the vast sea, the white waves swallow the boat.
The moss covers the Chu Pavilion, the dust on the Tang bricks is cold, a towering pavilion overlooks the nine provinces.
Wherever I gaze, I find the calligraphy of Fan Gong and the poetry of Du Sou.
Why scratch my head over the rise and fall of time?
Beyond the railings, I watch the Yangtze River flow by.
Is Lü Xian drunk? The kites are far away; Xiang Fei is old, the mottled bamboos sway.
I point with a smile at the dome monument, casually tap the railings, and call out to the blue sky's classic oriole.
In the setting sun, where the mist rises, we share the eternity of the ups and downs.