Recorder (注書) Yi Sun (𥭡) Invited Me to His Wooded Garden to Drink李注書𥭡邀飮林園

Your house south of the city wall is good, and the wooded garden is the most secluded and still. In the old days I walked the path of flowered bricks, and you were a guest of Bongsan (蓬山). When the audience was over you would draw me along at once, and we took off our robes and sat with our legs stretched out together. In the cherry season you always had sweet wine, whose fragrance and taste and color were lovely. The cloudy sort was like clarified butter (醍醐), and the clear sort was like a bead of jade. It was sweeter than what was set out for Mok Saeng (穆生), and stronger than the wine that laid Hyeonseok (玄石) low. Our minds met until we forgot our bodily forms, and laughter and jesting were mingled together. Of late we have each followed our own affairs, and word and trace have long gone astray. I wore the tally of Gyeju (桂州), and you at that time were in the capital. When I had just finished my term and returned, you had been banished to Gwandong (關東). Whenever I thought of our roaming in this garden, it seemed as far off as if a thousand years lay between. Today I obtained leave and was sitting composed in my solitary thatched hall, when I received your note of summons, mounted my horse and plied the whip often. Entering the gate I looked at the maple wood, and your house was just as it was before. The welcoming look of your eyes and the rich sweet wine were not in the least different from the old days. Only at my two temples have a few more white threads been added. Thinking of old times, my nose stings, and before I know it tears like beads fall down. With what shall I answer your heart? I promise to lift the cup and drink my fill.