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‘üan, in Kansuh.
[3] “History of Wei Dynasty” (Life of Hsü 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 was over, all my senses had gone.
[8] SELF-ABANDONMENT
I sat drinking and did not notice the dusk,
Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress.
Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream;
The birds were gone, and men also few.
[9] TO TAN CH‘IU
My friend is lodging high in the Eastern Range,
Dearly loving the beauty of valleys and hills.
At green Spring he lies in the empty woods,
And is still asleep when the sun shines on high.
A pine-tree wind dusts his sleeves and coat;
A pebbly stream cleans his heart and ears.
I envy you, who far from strife and talk
Are high-propped on a pillow of blue cloud.
[10] CLEARING AT DAWN
The fields are chill; the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of Spring teem on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;
The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.