Our party scattered at yellow dusk and I came
home to bed;
I woke at midnight and went for a walk,
leaning heavily
on a friend.
As I lay on a pillow my vinous complexion
soothed by
sleep, grew sober;
In front of the tower the ocean moon
accompanying the
tide had
risen.
The swallows, about to return to the beams, went back to
roost again.
The candle at my window, just going out, suddenly
revived
its light.
All the time till dawn came, still my
thoughts were muddled;
And in my ears something sounded like the music of flutes
and strings.
-- Po Chü-I (772-846)
trans. Arthur Waley
trans. Arthur Waley
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