Chapter 1 No.1

A cup of wine, under the flowering trees;

I drink alone, for no friend is near.

Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon,

For he, with my shadow, will make three men.

The moon, alas, is no drinker of wine;

Listless, my shadow creeps about at my side.

Yet with the moon as friend and the shadow as slave

I must make merry before the Spring is spent.

To the songs I sing the moon flickers her beams;

In the dance I weave my shadow tangles and breaks.

While we were sober, three shared the fun;

Now we are drunk, each goes his way.

May we long share our odd, inanimate feast,

And meet at last on the Cloudy River of the sky.[1]