The Hard Road - 1 of 3

Pure wine costs, for the golden cup,

ten thousand coppers a flagon,

And a jade plate of dainty food calls for million coins.


I fling aside my chop-sticks and cup, I cannot eat nor drink.
.
.


I pull out my dagger, I peer four ways in vain.


I would cross the Yellow River, but ice chokes the ferry;

I would climb the Tai-hang Mountains,

but the sky is blind with snow.
.


I would sit and poise a fishing-pole, lazy by a brook --

But I suddenly dream of riding a boat, sailing for the sun.
.
.


Journeying is hard,

Journeying is hard.


There are many turings --

Which am I to follow?.
.
.


I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy waves

And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep, deep sea.

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