"Rather would I have a lake of wine," he murmured inaudibly.
5.
Nevertheless, in the garden Li Po attempted to sober up. Ho Chih-chang held his head under Ore clear cool sparkling water. He fought himself free blustering and fuming.
"I swallowed some!" he cried. "Faugh! Water has a bitter, bitter taste. And a fish came up and bit my nose."
"There are no fish in the brook."
By the time the Emperor joined them, Li Po was reasonably sober.
"I am reputed to find poetry in running brooks," he growled, "but that time I found fish. And I have a pain. Perhaps I swallowed one."
However, at the Emperor's approach he was all graciousness.
Ming Huang sat upon a marble bench near the cool brook's edge.
"I would hear more of your history," he said.
Li Po looked at him quizzically. "Drunk or sober?" "Which is best?"
"I have never seen him completely sober," Ho Chih-chang observed.
"When I'm sober," mused Li Po, "I write of mountains with passionate fervor, when I am drunk I leap over them with ease. But sometimes it is only my soul that leaps to mountain tops. Then I permit the tip of
my brush to write what it wishes. In grass characters
