鐔津文集 18.117

18.117

The white-haired elder of the Eastern Mountain / returns through green woods to the Western Dock. / Hearing gibbons, he pauses his tin staff for a while; / wading through water, he lifts his own robes. / His lofty discourses are unmatched in talent; / his solitary traces are seen but rarely. / Ashamed that you send lines to a woodcutter, / fine verses emerge from the cliff gate.