This prince of a former dynasty
had no love for arms;
he held a brush by his quiet window
and painted river banks.
Cloud fragments over distant waters,
here three hundred years,
and still the pines and bamboo groves
are moist with springtime rain.

He's walked each path beneath the pines,
now floats downstream in a boat.
If the emperor presented Mirror Lake to him,
he'd spend all day among its waves.