In our magnolia-oared apple-wood boat
gold flutes and jade pipes for and aft
a thousand liters of fine wine on board
we drift with courtesans beside us

A Taoist is waiting to ride off on a crane
a fisherman ignores the gulls walking behind him
the songs of Ch’u Yuan are heard here night and day
the King of Ch’u’s garden palace is a desolate hill

Inspired by wine I write this and the sacred mountains shake
the islands of immortals resound when I’m done
if fame or fortune could somehow last
the waters of the Han would flow upstream

translated by Red Pine