Classic Poem

Last night there was rain with a soughing wind.
In the air was the sound of autumn,
And the screens and curtains rustled.
Again and again I turned on my pillow,
As the candlelight waned, and the clepsydra stopped dripping.
Nor could I compose myself when I sat up.

Worldly affairs simply drift away
In the wake of the running stream:
Methinks my life is but a floating dream.
Fittest to frequent —
The calm Land of Drunkenness.
Other than it, there's no path
I can bear to travel.