Ten days on the river, wind buffets my head;
At Caishi's bank, I linger a while instead.
The dragon palace gleams, overlooking the rushing tide;
I straighten my robe, bow twice, praying for blessings to abide.
Leaving the gate, I wander to a secluded temple's ground,
A perilous pavilion hangs ethereal, near the Golden Ox mound.
North and south of the river, the azure mist clears away,
The sun, not yet set, saddens the brows of two beauties in dismay.
The Minister's splendid lines are unmatched in the world, it's true,
But alas, no singer's voice to set his melodies anew.
Plum blossoms plucked, wine set in the quiet hall's deep shade,
The Taoist priest abstains, hesitating, his cup delayed.
A wild monk raises his cup with a piercing green-eyed gaze,
And gets a great dipper to repay the fragrant feast's praise.
As my waning interest turns to the boat beneath the hill,
The host, who loves his guests, still urges us to drink our fill.
Deep in the night, with a cane, I mourn at the desolate mound,
Torches in rows light the wild fields and the ridges around.
The locals peep and whisper, their murmurs soft and low,
Such a grand affair is rare, as few would ever know.
Sitting close, we exchange words, heartfelt and sincere,
Lamenting the present, recalling the past, the wind sighs drear.
Moored by the isle, I chant aloud to vent my sorrow's weight,
To probe the strange with a rhinoceros torch—what is fate?
Drunk and wild, I don a purple fur robe in the night,
Ride a whale into the sea, searching the depths with all my might.
Sages lie lonely, the river flows on, vast and slow,
Man in this world is but a mayfly, here then gone we go.
And my own body feels like a useless, burdensome growth,
Yet following your virtuous path, our spirits share a common troth.
Wine flows like a river, enough to float upon with glee,
I only wish to ascend the Yellow Crane Tower soon, free.
To drink deeply, sing wildly, and urge each other on,
And mourn for Mi Heng at Parrot Isle, once he was gone.