Chapter 51

THE DECADE OF PIH H'WA

~An Ode Appropriate to a Festivity~

The dew lies heavy all around, Nor, till the sun shines, leaves the ground. Far into night we feasting sit; We drink, and none his place may quit.

The dew lies heavy, and its gems Stud the luxuriant, grassy stems. The happy night with wassail rings; So feasted here the former kings.

The jujube and the willow-tree All fretted with the dew we see. Each guest's a prince of noble line, In whom the virtues all combine.

The _t'ung_ and _e_ their fruits display, Pendant from every graceful spray. My guests are joyous and serene, No haggard eye, no ruffled mien.