Classic Poem

Making flowers your life, keeping your pleasure unchanged,
a thousand, ten thousand clusters, you've managed to plant.
Planting flowers and not loving them is like not planting them;
loving flowers and not regretting them is like not loving them.
Loving them, we nurture greed; regretting them, melancholy;
these sentiments are confusing and clog the mind.
Protecting beauty with golden bells is such trouble to take;
a single petal flying away breaks my heart into smithereens.
Getting drunk under the bloom, unthinking, can't be surpassed,
profiting from enjoying the peak of spring as best one can.
Fresh sake in gold-lacquered tubs, the east wind gentle,
birds call above, below, the mild light slow to wane.
Come night, there'll be no need to light silver lamps;
the clear moon will illuminate this fragrant view.
Mountain cherries on the whole mountain, just transplanted,
I've learned to enjoy them with everyone else.