Breathtaking and mind-boggling, the
waters of the Yellow River,
on and on without end, its way is
coursing eastward—
drifting drifting slowly, obscure
and never clearing,
slipping by body after body, whose
lives appear to pass instead.
But if you wish to ride majestic
white clouds,
how can one develop wings?
While your hair is still jet-black,
begin—
active or at rest, drop away
completely.
from translations: 67-red pine; 100-tanahashi; 64-henricks
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