Seven Cups - a Taoist Poem

The first bowl moistens my lips and throat;

The second bowl banishes all loneliness;

The third expelled the dullness from my mind,

Inducing inspirations born from all the books I’ve read;

At the fourth cup, I begin to perspire –

life's troubles evaporate through my pores.

The fifth cup cleanses my entire being.

Six cups and I am in the realm of the Divine.

Seven cups - ah, but I can drink no more:

I can only feel the gentle breeze blowing through my sleeves,

wafting me away to the Isle of Immortality!

-- Lu Tung, 8th century Taoist poet