Pure wine costs, for the golden cup, ten thousand coppers a flagon, And a jade plate of dainty food calls for a million coins. I fling aside my food-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 Taihang 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 turnings – 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.