Li Po
Now slants the sun
And shadows ripple cold.
Lift up your head,
The Moon is on the hill,
Your nets still empty
And the day worn out."
"Some day," said Ho Chih-chang, who was one of the party, "I believe I shall go fishing."
"Why not today?" asked Li Po.
"Fishing should be done in a grand manner. Why fish when there is no audience?"
"You have seven friends."
"All thirsty, with no eyes but for the wine flag waving.
"Let us enter the tavern," Li Po suggested, reverently.
The tavern-keeper smiled broadly at the approach of eight guests. If he had known their capacity, the smile might have broadened to touch both ears.
"Wine!" cried Li Po. "Warm wine, a dozen cups for each of us."
He turned and surveyed his companions, the small coterie who had preferred Li Po and the uncertainties of a wandering minstrel's life, to the lush splendor of an Emperor's court.
"No care exists," observed Li Po, "that a hundred cups of wine will not banish. If the gods had not loved wine they would not have placed a wine star in the
sky. With wine, we drink wisdom. Here we are, eight
