he was over his old mother's condition. He prayed that he might arrive in time.
Li Po and the Emperor drank much wine. Wang Wei abstained.
Under his breath, Li Po hummed softly.
"Sing if you like," the Emperor told him, "let the fields resound to your songs."
Instead of chanting one of his own, he chose a song by T'sao T'sao:
"Here is wine, let us sing;
For mans life is short,
Like the morning dew,
Its best days gone by,
But though we would rejoice,
Sorrows are hard to forget.
What will make us forget them?
Wine and only wine."
Li Po paused, gazing at the glory about him, his expression reflecting his pure delight in nature. He breathed deeply of the cool, pine scented air.
"The purpling clouds of evening," he said, "flood the sky like wine."
"Why not write a song called, "Drinking the Sky on a Mountain-top?"
"It would be a song worth singing."
Ming Huang was surprised at his seriousness. Impulsively he asked, "Is it true, as Tu Fu has told me, that you are helping combine the three great religions so that they may be welded into one?"
