萬籁俱寂，玉琴掺锵锵嗚，一彈再撫餘音杳，松风月如水，襟懷渺碧。孤鶴橫空唳一聲，繁絲弱竹喧羣鳥。行書下有羅含題文，曰：少有志尚。嘗昼臥。夢五彩烏飛入口中，鳥文采異常。叔母朱氏言：鳥有文采，汝後必有文章。自此後，含藻思日新，而文中江山如畫。

而李白少時，夢所用之筆生花，含臥於生雲之松，夢五彩鳥。而筆生萬物，沉山藏水，伏之大者，所變化乎，其形如山，其痕若水。畫見其大意而不為，刻畫之跡，則煙嵐之景，為萬象矣。筆書之景，畫回墨而生五色，若晨上峰中，詩文如日。

書畫若星，生花之筆，五彩之鳥，己為山水萬物矣。畫中江峰林立，水流浩然，清澈如月，掛峰山頭，南北相對，嶺旁多短松，老幹屈曲，根葉蒼秀，上下高嶺，深山荒寂，泉轟風动，溪石漸幽，越嶺數重，皆循山路，麓迂回臨，陟俱在山脊，而雨後新霽，泉聲山色，往復創變。翠叢中山鵑映發，令人攀歷忘苦，山頂隨处生雲。言此抵石梁。

筆為生花之器，鳥為文采之軀。江水靜深，夢為文章之先，五色鳥及得神意，夢化為萬象之詩。忘憂同麈，韻懷道清。鳥啼溪香，曲入悠河，松吟長韵。真山之氣兮神姿，凝象之驅兮蓊郁。四時煙嵐兮異易，八極雲霧兮霽色。天地若生兮，山見其大意而不為。風雨皆起兮，水起止兮之往山勢。然汪洋而不遇，人间大夢，唯詩文萬古開今耳。冰逸

Silence reigns everywhere, only the sound of the jade zither is vibrant and rhythmic, play it again and again, the sound lingered on and on, the moon and the wind amidst the pines are as fresh and clear as water, the mind embraces the vastness of green. The crane cries across the sky for its loneliness, the enchanting music delights the birds. There is an inscription by Luo Han at the bottom of the running script, which says: [Luo] had great ambitious since a young age. He used to sleep during the day. In his dream, a five-colored bird flew into his mouth, the bird had outstanding literary talents. Luo’s aunt Zhu said: the bird has literary talents, so you can definitely write great articles. Since then, Luo Han generated new thoughts and ideas everyday, and his writings embraced the grandness of mountains and rivers like that of a landscape painting.

When he was young, Li Bai once dreamed of flowers grew from the tip of his brush. Luo Han lied on the pine in the clouds, and dreamed of the five-colored bird. The brush generates all beings, concealing the mountains and hiding the waters, the great ones are changing and transforming, with forms resemble that of the mountains, and traces resemble that of the waters. A painting sees its meaning but does nothing to reveal it, the traces of the brush, the scene of the mists in the mountains, are the myriad of forms. The scene under the brush, is back to pure ink that generates five colors, like on top of the peak in the morning, with the poem as the bright sun.

Painting and calligraphy are like stars, the brush that generates the flower, and the five-colored bird, already became the landscape of all beings. In the painting there are numerous peaks and rivers, the river is running with a striking force, and the water as clear as the moon, the peaks on top of the mountains, are facing each other from north to south. There are short pine trees near the peak, with gnarled trunks and exuberant leaves, mountains and peaks up and down like a forest, deep in the mountains it gets cold and desolate, the springs are roaring and wind blowing, streams and rocks are getting quiet, climbed over several peaks, all along the mountain roads, down the foot of the hills are winding valleys, upon mountain ridges are steep cliffs, the weather cleared up after the rain, the sound of springs and the views in the mountains, are constantly emerging and changing. The beauty of azaleas against green bushes is mesmerizing, making people forget about the tiredness of climbing, clouds are seen everywhere on the peak, saying this we arrived at the stone beams.

The brush is the vessel that generates flowers, the bird is the body the bears literary talents. The river is deep and quiet, the dream precedes the writing, the five-colored bird received the divine spirit, and the dream transformed into the poem of all phenomena. Free from worries and embrace the world with peace and harmony, the mind is rhythmic and the way is clear. The birds are singing and the stream is fragrant, winding into the long river, the pine trees are chanting with rhymes. The spirit of a true mountain is with a divine appearance, the form of gathered phenomena is luxuriant. The mists of the four seasons are different, the clouds from the eight extremes are sky blue. Upon the birth of heaven and earth, mountain saw their will but did nothing. When the wind and the rain both came, the beginning and the end of the water follow the ups and downs of the mountains. Drifting in the vast ocean we never encounter, the human world is all but a grand dream, and only the poetry transcends the past and the present. Bingyi