Page:A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems (1919).djvu/114

 Yet he went at last, when he longed to stay. And late or soon, all go: Wise and simple have no reprieve. Wine may bring forgetfulness, But does it not hasten old-age? If you set your hearts on noble deeds, How do you know that any will praise you? By all this thinking you do Me injury: You had better go where Fate leads — Drift on the Stream of Infinite Flux, Without joy; without fear: When you must go — then go, And make as little fuss as you can.