​Translation by Composer

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Hard is the Road to Sichuan
Li Bai

Eee hooo heee!

How daunting! How tall!

Hard is the road to Sichuan,

hard as climbing the sky!
Can Cong and Yu Fu

founded a state, immemorial.

Forty-eight thousand years have gone, 

never linking Shaanxi with human life.
To the west, only by a bird's path on Mount Taibai
can one surmount Mount Emei's peak.
Earth shattered, mountains crumbled, heroes died,

then were the heavenly ladders and stone planks linked.

Above, six dragons entwine the sun at the tip;

below, raging waves clash back the twisting stream. 

Even the flight of a yellow crane cannot pass;

monkeys wish yet fear the climb.
Mount Qingni, how it twists,

nine bends in a hundred paces wind through the rocky slopes. 

Touching the Three Stars and crossing the Well, gazing up, afraid to gasp;

with hand on chest, sit and sigh.

Asking when you'll return from your western journey,

fearing the towering cliffs, unclimable. 

Only mournful birds cry in olden trees, 

males flying, females trailing, encircling the woods. 

Hearing the cuckoo's call in the moonlit night,

saddened by the empty mountain. 

Hard is the road to Sichuan,

hard as climbing the sky!

Hearing this, color drains from one's face. 

Chains of peaks less than a foot from sky,

withered pines, upside down, cling to sheer cliffs. 

Rushing torrents and roiling falls rage in uproar,

smashing cliffs, spinning rocks, thunder echoes through ten thousand ravines. 

Such is the danger.

Why, you from afar, have you come?

The Sword Gate, towering and imposing,

one man guards the pass,

ten thousand fail to breach. 

The guard may not be kin,

may turn into a wolf or jackal.

Flee from tiger by day,

flee from snake by night.

Teeth grinding, blood-sucking,

killing people like slaying hemp.

The City of Brocade, though said to be blissful,

better still to go home soon. 

Hard is the road to Sichuan,

hard as climbing the sky!

Turn your gaze to the west, let out a long sigh.