Banquet at the Tso Family Manor
The windy forest is checkered By the light of the setting, Waning moon. I tune the lute, Its strings are moist with dew. The brook flows in the darkness Below the flower path. The thatched Roof is crowned with constellations. As we write the candles burn short. Our wits grow sharp as swords while The wine goes round. When the poem Contest is ended, someone Sings a song of the South. And I think of my little boat, And long to be on my way. Tu Fu Trans. Kenneth Rexroth