Beneath the blossoms with a pot of wine, No friends at hand, so I poured alone; I raised my cup to invite the moon, Turned to my shadow, and we became three.
Heaven is high, Earth Wide. Bitter between them flies my sorrow.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden; They hurt me. I grow older.
The world is like a great empty dream. Why should one toil away one's life?
The living is a passing traveler; The dead, a man come home.
I am asked why I live in the green mountains; I smile but reply not, for my heart is at rest. The flowing waters carry the image of the peach blossoms far, far away; there is an earth, there is a heaven, unknown to men.