Auspicious haze scatters in profusion; sacred light guards the dharma-body.

散 reads sàn, to scatter. The portrait opens exactly as the emperor's procession did, on vapour and light before any figure appears — but here the light is guarding a body rather than announcing a carriage.

In the ninth heaven's splendid firmament, she reveals herself, a true woman-immortal.

華 is huá in 華漢, the splendid Sky River. 女真人 names her plainly as a woman and an adept, and the elaborate catalogue that follows never says anything so direct again.

That Bodhisattva: upon her head she wears a pendant-pearl chaplet — clasped with gold leaf, spread with kingfisher blooms, casting a golden light and breeding an auspicious vapor;

那 is the pointing nà. From here the rhapsody works down her from head to foot in long ornament-laden parallel clauses — crown, robe, breast-pendant, skirt: the standard iconography of the White-robed Guanyin, put into words.

upon her body she wears a plain blue robe of woven silk, pale of hue and lightly adorned, coiled with golden dragons and soaring with colored phoenixes;

的 is the toneless de closing a long string of modifiers. Everything from 淡淡色 onward is describing one word, 藍袍, the blue robe, and that word arrives only at the end — the reader holds the description in suspense before learning what it describes.

at her breast hangs a fragrant jeweled pendant, facing the bright moon and dancing in the pure breeze, set with mingled precious pearls and gathered kingfisher-jade;

攢 is cuán, clustered, and 的 is again the modifying de. The same construction as the line before, applied now to the breast-pendant.

at her waist she binds an embroidered woolen skirt of ice-silkworm thread, its border woven with gold, mounting the colored clouds and hastening over the jasper sea;

間 is jiān in 腰間, and 繫 is xì, to tie. This is the third and last of the long modifier-strings, and the poem has now dressed her from head to waist without once reaching a main verb.

and before her she leads a white parrot with yellow down and red beak, that flies the Eastern Ocean, roams the whole world, and, mindful of kindness, practices filial duty.

The 白鸚哥, white parrot, is a familiar attendant in images of Guanyin, standing for gratitude and filial devotion. 行 in 行孝, practises filial duty, is xíng.

In her hand she holds up a precious vase that bestows grace and succors the world; and in the vase is set a drooping willow-sprig that sprinkles the blue empyrean, scatters great evil, and sweeps away the lingering mist.

Both occurrences of 著, in 托著, holds up, and 插著, is set in, are the ongoing-action zhe.

Jade rings run through embroidered clasps; golden lotuses sink deep beneath her feet.

金蓮, golden lotuses, are what a deity is traditionally shown treading on — the ground rising to meet the foot.

Through the Three Heavens she is granted passage.

Five characters, set against the long lines on either side. 三天許出入 grants her free passage through the Three Heavens — the one claim in the whole portrait that is about power rather than appearance, and it is given the shortest line in it.

This, indeed, is Guanshiyin, who relieves suffering and delivers from calamity.

難 in 救苦救難, relieves suffering and delivers from calamity, is nàn. After all the pearls and silk, the closing line names her by the only thing that finally matters about her, which is what she does.