Classic Poem

One night at an east tower you welcomed and prayed for me,
sake yellow as a goose, marinated food shredded thin as thread.
Cups flying crisscross, toasts for no one special,
in this party we in the end couldn't tell who was host.
The smoke from candles filled the space, warm as spring mist,
a song piercing the air, with a Yang-a dance.
How could I know outside the cold was unbearable,
frost forming on ten thousands roof-tiles, close to four A.M. ?
When pleasure reaches its apex, sadness tends to follow:
aware, yes, I am that this lament's the same as in the past.
Trudging in the snow tomorrow I'll head back to Mino,
the parting far more bitter than the kihada drug.