廬山記 4.103

4.103

Its true source no man can fathom, / hanging a thousand feet at the clouds' edge. / Mountain colors cannot taint it; / divine craftsmanship could hardly shape it. / Spouting in summer, apes and birds freeze in stillness; / splashing in autumn, the Dipper and Ox feel cold. / Wait until it crosses into the vast ocean; / turning into billows, it will be even fairer to behold.