On the Seventeenth Day of the First Month of the Gyeyu Year, Drinking through the Night and Growing Very Drunk at the House of Im Wongan the Licentiate, together with Jin Hwa of the Academy癸酉孟春十七日。與陳翰林澕夜飮林秀才元幹家大醉。林君請觀長篇律詩走筆。予使陳公唱韻賦之。文不加點。不容一瞥。

The frozen current trickles out, and the spring wind is chill and cold. The years gather and my face begins to change; moved by things, the heart is hard to set at ease. The kindled charcoal at first I disliked as too fierce, and the cool robe draws nearer to a single layer. The willow has barely lifted its green eyes, the peach has not yet spat out its red lips. The water has risen, and the fish at play are a joy; the grove is warm, and the birds' voices a delight. No season could be better than this, and fine gatherings have from of old been hard to come by. For drinking, luckily the pine pavilion is quiet; for chanting, we go on till the painted candles die. The wine we pour is better than Cloud Liquor (雲液), the relish better than rice with chrysanthemum petals. Little by little we would make the sky our tent; why reckon that the sun has climbed the pole? High feeling pierces the flank of the moon, soaring thought straddles the wings of the wind. Dead drunk, we count it sweet to drain the cup, and leave fame to wear its seal-cords through. In a green robe I have still but an inch of salary, white-haired, still in a lowly post. I never knew I would be wrapped in green silk, yet I know that I am no lump of yellow clay. Though I were drunk a thousand days, how could that repay a lifetime's sourness? The years, though held, are hard to tie down; the immortals I trespass upon even in dreams. In the red dust I still peck at what is rotten, and the pellet of the cinnabar cauldron (丹鼎) I have not swallowed. Sadly I gaze toward the road to Hocheon (壺天), and sink in vain in the waves of this land-locked sea. Having found you I am glad and full of admiration: your bearing is upright and composed. Losing your purpose, you once threw away the steamer; given office, you straightway dreamed of the cap. My own heart is cramped and narrow as a bottle; your will, like the sea, how wide it is! Presumptuously I became one of a pair of flying cranes and came seeking the five-colored phoenix. Better to lay bare the lungs and liver at once than to go carefully hunting for flaws. Speaking of old days, the bowels break first; discussing friendship, the tears already flow. The pearl of the Marquis of Sui has nowhere to be sold; the jade of Zhao, who is there to look at it? Lowly as I am, the valley suits me, while you, sir, will wear brocade for good. Your heart, clear as water, is lovable; your words, fragrant as orchid, are a delight. Drowsiness, driven off, turns back into mire; the spring of poetry, tipped out, is near to drying up. If one who knows the tune (知音) will not listen, for whom shall I play "Flowing Water" (流水)?