The spring wind comes from the east and quickly passes, <br />Leaving faint ripples in the wine of the golden bowl. <br />The flowers fall, flake after flake, myriads together. <br /> <br /> You, pretty girl, wine-flushed, <br /> Your rosy face is rosier still. <br /> How long may the peach and plum trees flower <br /> By the green-painted house? <br /> The fleeting light deceives man, <br /> Brings soon the stumbling age. <br /> <br />Rise and dance <br />In the westering sun <br />While the urge of youthful years is yet unsubdued! <br />What avails to lament after one's hair has turned white <br /> like silken threads?<br /><br />Li Po<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/before-the-cask-of-wine/
