Li Bai, styled Taibai, a clear breeze in his lungs, a bright moon's soul.
Whipping his horse, alone he strides—only one man; I chant Taibai, my hands clap time and again.
I've heard Taibai is the Longevity Star, shining bright in the sky at midnight.
I shout his name aloud to heaven, but by the star's side, no answer comes from Bai.
Or perhaps that star is the Wine Star, pouring celestial brew from the Milky Way.
Alas, I lack wings to fly and see him; by the Queen Mother's pool, I'd sober anyway.
I'd wander to Jinling, from Caishi start, play with the moon, sail back to Red Cliff's heart.
I'd climb Mount Ji's peak, atop Shouyang high, watch Bai dine on snow, sleep 'neath purple smoke nigh.
Yet again, I know not where he is, rinsing in jade springs, sipping from rosy cup.
In longing gaze, no crane-riding figure appears; where is Bai now, I wonder, up or down?
I regret not being born in his time; yet in death, I rejoice to read his rhyme.
Not only his writings are worth emulating; his stern, unyielding spirit is ever-shining.
A eulogy in Golden Luan Palace hall, pleasure verses in Chenxiang Pavilion's thrall.
These are but Taibai's trivial affairs; what others know, I too know, and he shares.
Making Gao Lishi remove his boots, a slave; resigning office, viewing Lady Yang as knave.
These are Taibai's true great virtues indeed; what others don't know, I alone take heed.
Sing his poems, and ghosts and spirits weep; they make the green tomb's dry bones rise from sleep.
Call his name, and ghosts and spirits start; only the immortals lean to listen, part.
Now I'll fetch jade from Kunlun Mountain high, to carve Bai's likeness, fine and nigh.
Through all directions, up and down, he'll stay; from Jiangdong to Weibei, no longing sway.
I must beg the Creator of heaven and earth, to make my brush's flame a rainbow of worth.