Chinese Poem

Fair is the land in waning Spring,
The light wind passes like a sigh,
Swift through the blue on sweeping wing
The swallow, clay in beak, goes by.
Gladly he darts through shadowing leaves
To his house-building 'neath the eaves.
To the wide ocean far away
The wild geese, reeds in bill, take flight,
Streaming across the moonlit bay
Through the vast silence of the night.

You write, "I sing, where old friends throng,
New songs, and, duly purified, I drink and pass the cup along,
Adrift upon the crystal tide."
Glad would I join your feast. Alas!
Weak from disease I may not pass
To revel by your side!