原詩:
煙迷千疊峰，簫開一色空
當風疑仙客，虛無飄渺中

譯詩:
Mountains in the crowd
thousands they count
blurry under shround
of the misty cloud.

Suddenly comes the sound
of flute it sails thru
across the sky it rings true
prevailing the high in one blue.

And on the wind there seems a figure,
from heaven where else could it be there,
unsubstantial like a vapor
retreats to the thin air.