Page:The works of Li Po - Obata.djvu/108



Life is an immense dream. Why toil? All day long I drowse with wine, And lie by the post at the front door. Awakening, I gaze upon the garden trees, And, hark, a bird is singing among the flowers. Pray, what season may this be? Ah, the songster's a mango-bird, Singing to the passing wind of spring. I muse and muse myself to sadness, Once more I pour my wine, and singing aloud, Await the bright moonrise. My song is ended— What troubled my soul?—I remember not. Rh