Classic Poem

I drank at night on East Slope, sobered up, got drunk again.
When I came home it was sometime past midnight,
The houseboy was already snoring like thunder.
I pounded on the gate and got no response,
Then leaned on my staff and listened to the river noises.

I have long deplored that this body is not one's own.
When can I forget the restless striving?
The night is late, the wind still, the ripples smooth.
In a little boat I shall put out from here,
Entrusting my remaining days to river and sea.