The first cup caresses my dry lips and throat,
The second shatters the walls of my lonely sadness,
The third searches the dry rivulets of my soul to find the stories of five thousand scrolls.
With the fourth, the pain of past injustice vanishes through my pores.
The fifth purifies my flesh and bone.
With the sixth, I am in touch with the immortals.
The seventh gives such pleasure I can hardly bear.
The fresh wind blows through my wings as I make my way to Penglai.
-Lu Tong (AD 619-907 (T'ang))