I rush to the office when I'm in the city,
but when my duties are over, I take walks in the hills.
This evening I visit a Ch'en-dynasty temple,
its corridors and halls filled with ancient treasures.
In crumbling niches, gold Buddhas shine;
marvelous paintings cover the high walls.
A broken stele can no longer be read:
cracked, and covered with moss.
The old monk, well acquainted with the Dharma,
sits in meditation, cultivating tranquility.
He shows me a palm-leaf manuscript
and we pass the evening in profound conversation.
Wind-bells sound above the clouds
and dew drips into the pond and the spring.
Our words seem to be in perfect accord:
from this day on, I will leave the world behind.