Classic Poem

Ten years, nothing but grueling study;
a mistake perhaps, but suddenly my name's on the list.
Just passing is no real prize, though;
true glory comes when you break good news to parents.
Six or seven friends who passed at the same time
see me off from the imperial city.
Canopied carriages set out in procession,
strings and flutes lift parting sounds.
Success softens the pain of leave-taking;
half drunk, I think little of the long road ahead:
the swift clatter-clatter of horses' hooves,
the feel of this spring day as I head for home!