Now we are drunk, each goes his way.
May we long share our odd, inanimate feast,
And meet at last on the Cloudy River of the sky.[1]

II

In the third month the town of Hsien-yang
Is thick-spread with a carpet of fallen flowers.
Who in Spring can bear to grieve alone?
Who, sober, look on sights like these?
Riches and Poverty, long or short life,
By the Maker of Things are portioned and disposed;
But a cup of wine levels life and death
And a thousand things obstinately hard to prove.
When I am drunk, I lose Heaven and Earth.
Motionless--I cleave to my lonely bed.
At last I forget that I exist at all,
And at _that_ moment my joy is great indeed.

III

If High Heaven had no love for wine,
There would not be a Wine Star in the sky.
If Earth herself had no love for wine,
There would not be a city called Wine Springs.[2]
Since Heaven and Earth both love wine,
I can love wine, without shame before God.
Clear wine was once called a Saint;[3]
Thick wine was once called "a Sage."[3]

Of Saint and Sage I have long quaffed deep,
What need for me to study spirits and _hsien_?[4]
At the third cup I penetrate the Great Way;
A full gallon--Nature and I are one ...
But the things I feel when wine possesses my soul
I will never tell to those who are not drunk.

[1] The Milky Way.

[2] Ch`iu-ch`uuan, in Kansuh.

[3] "History of Wei Dynasty" (Life of Hsuu Mo): "A drunken visitor said,
'Clear wine I account a Saint: thick wine only a Sage.'"

[4] The lore of Rishi, Immortals.

[6] IN THE MOUNTAINS ON A SUMMER DAY

Gently I stir a white feather fan,
With open shirt sitting in a green wood.
I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone;
A wind from the pine-trees trickles on my bare head.

[7] WAKING FROM DRUNKENNESS ON A SPRING DAY

"Life in the World is but a big dream;
I will not spoil it by any labour or care."
So saying, I was drunk all the day,
Lying helpless at the porch in front of my door.
When I woke up, I blinked at the garden-lawn;
A lonely bird was singing amid the flowers.
I asked myself, had the day been wet or fine?
The Spring wind was telling the mango-bird.
Moved by its song I soon began to sigh,
And as wine was there I filled my own cup.
Wildly singing I waited for the moon to rise;
When my song