Autumn wind rises: white clouds fly.
Grass and trees wither: geese go south.
Orchids all in bloom: chrysanthemums smell sweet.
I think of my lovely lady: I never can forget.
Floating-pagoda boat crosses Fen River.
Across the mid-stream white waves rise;
Flute and drum keep time to sound of rowers’ song;
Amidst revel and feasting, sad thoughts come;
Youth’s years how few! Age how sure!
From: http://www.potw.org/archive/potw315.html
Date: c175 BCE (original); 1919 (translation)
By: Wu Ti (157-187 BCE)
Translated by: Arthur David Waley (1889-1966)
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