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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