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拍品专文
The inscribed poem may be translated as:
The cold stream gnaws at the feet of the mountain,
Filling the hollows as if with the sky itself.
Spanning the vine-strewn recesses,
The narrow path it follows is cracked and broken.
The scene invigorates this hermit,
Inspiring him with its leisurely elegance.
Meandering out from the grove,
Only to reappear beneath the towering cliffs.
The fountainhead is beyond sight,
Spilling from the heavens into innumerable vales.
The elegant azures of its waters,
Complement the white clouds above.
What it must be like having reached the peak,
With pavilions almost hidden among the mist?
'One day after the Dragon Boat Festival of the jiashen year (1704), I pulled a sheet of xuan paper out from my trunk and painted the landscape as I envisioned it, so as to give whomsoever appreciates this a smile. The Pure One, Shitao.'
The cold stream gnaws at the feet of the mountain,
Filling the hollows as if with the sky itself.
Spanning the vine-strewn recesses,
The narrow path it follows is cracked and broken.
The scene invigorates this hermit,
Inspiring him with its leisurely elegance.
Meandering out from the grove,
Only to reappear beneath the towering cliffs.
The fountainhead is beyond sight,
Spilling from the heavens into innumerable vales.
The elegant azures of its waters,
Complement the white clouds above.
What it must be like having reached the peak,
With pavilions almost hidden among the mist?
'One day after the Dragon Boat Festival of the jiashen year (1704), I pulled a sheet of xuan paper out from my trunk and painted the landscape as I envisioned it, so as to give whomsoever appreciates this a smile. The Pure One, Shitao.'