Climb North Peak three times,
And Hangzhou lies spread out before you, all but empty.
By the Flying Phoenix Pavilion, the trees stand still;
On Peach Blossom Ridge, the breeze blows free.
When the heat comes, I seek my fan;
When the chill sets in, I gaze upon a beauty.
A single petal floats down,
As if to welcome the evening oriole.