Drinking wine
Tao Qian
I’ve made my home among people,
yet I hear no noise of cart horses.
You ask how am I able to do that?
A heart in a far place seeks its own.
I pick chrysanthemums from the east hedge
and gaze, at leisure, on South Mountain.
In this mountain air, day is beautiful — and night too;
birds fly out, then return together.
These facts all have a clear meaning;
I want to argue for my points, but already forget to speak.
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