Mountain-stones,
Rough along the path narrow,
Bats in flight, hides in the dusk,
the rain-wash air gives swallow,
gardenia-pods outward thrust,
huge banana leaves shadow,
I climbed the path to the hall,
To temple.

The priest told,
Of Buddhas painted finely,
With ancient lantern’s strong light
He showed me the way kindly,
Wonderful I called that night
Spreading dusty mats for bed,
Coarse food satisfied dinner,
Soundlessness filling my head,
Moonlight, her pure light enters
My door, across from the wall,
Of Buddhas.

The mountain,
Leaving at the day’s dawning,
Alone, while a heavy mist,
In and out then surrounding,
Passing through the gentle fist,
Becoming lost in the trees,
Pines mixing with oak mighty
Ten men together couldn’t seize
Pebbles worn by stream lightly
Traveling as I did go,
From mountain.

Swift running,
Water over my feet goes,
Ripples purity to ear,
Pebbles playing with my toes,
No peoples voices to hear;
My chosen pupils so far
Behind me in far off home,
Still in studies where the are,
And me with mountain to roam;
This place and these simple things,
Freedom and peace they do bring,
What if I never went home,
Spending my old age right here?
Mountain-stones.