Classic Poem

I drive my chariot up to the Eastern Gate;
From afar I see the graveyard north of the Wall
The white aspens how they murmur, murmur;
Pines and cypresses flank the broad paths
Beneath lie men who died long ago;
Black, black is the long night that holds them.
Deep down beneath the Yellow Springs,
Thousands of years they lie without waking.

In infinite succession light and darkness shift,
And years vanish like the morning dew
Man's life is like a sojourning,
His longevity lacks the firmness of stone and metal.
For ever it has been that mourners in their turn were mourned,
Saint and Sage — all alike are trapped
Seeking by food to obtain immortality
Many have been the dupe of strange drugs
Better far to drink good wine
And clothe our bodies in robes of satin and silk.