A fisherman is drifting, enjoying spring mountains,
Peach-trees on both banks
Leading one to an ancient source.
Watching fresh-colored trees, never thinking of distance
Coming to the end of the blue stream
-suddenly- strange men!
To a cave-with a mouth so narrow
forcing him to crawl through;
But then it opens wide again on a broad and level path —
Far beyond clouds crowning a reach of trees,
Thousands of homes shadowed round
with flowers and bamboos…
Woodsmen tell him their names in the ancient speech of Han;
Clothes of the Qin Dynasty are worn by all these people
Living on the uplands, above the Wuling River,
On farms and in gardens that are like a world apart,
Their dwellings at peace under pines in the clear moon,
Until sunrise fills the low sky with crowing and barking.
…At news of a stranger the people all assemble,
Each of them invites him in to ask him of home
Alleys and paths are cleared for him of petals in the morning,
Fishermen and farmers bring him their loads at dusk….
They had left the world long ago,
having come here seeking refuge;
They have lived as angels ever since, blessedly far away,
No one in the cave knowing anything outside,
Outsiders viewing only empty mountains and thick clouds.
…The fisherman, unaware of his great good fortune,
Begins to think of the country, of home, of worldly ties,
Finds his way out of the cave, past mountains, past rivers,
Intending to return, when after telling kin.
He studies every step taken, fixes it deeply in mind,
Forgetting cliffs and peaks may vary their appearance.
…It’s certain that to enter through deepness of the mountain,
A green river leads you, into a misty wood
But now, after spring-floods everywhere
leaving floating peach petals —
Which is the way to go, to find that hidden source?
