Sky autumnal, not a wisp of cloud

Sky autumnal, not a wisp of cloud,
the earth peaceful, not the faintest dust:
round, round, the moon newly cleared,
a white disk appearing beyond the woods.
I think of the dark rainy days we've had,
dragging on and on for three or four weeks.
Luckily home-brewed wine was ripe for drinking,
so without noticing I passed the mornings and evenings.
I told myself once the rain let up,
I'd set aside the rest in the barrel.
But now, faced with hues of a new-risen moon,
it would be too dreary not to get drunk!
On the shelf, the nearly empty wine cask —
preparing to finish it, I find the flavor richer than ever.
I lug it, set it down by the southern eaves,
lift and pour myself a generous portion.
Clear rays fall into cup and ladle,
white dew collects on robe and headcloth,
and now I realize, cloudy or clear,
I could never do without this gentleman!
Those New Yüeh-fu poems of mine —
they're finished, but no one's heard them yet.
This evening, drunk and suddenly inspired,
I chant them wildly, startling neighbors.
If even alone I enjoy myself so,
how much more if friends were here!
Author of original: 
Po Ch├╝-i
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