Classic Poem

Your smiling cheeks, burning clouds,
or drunken green-peach blossoms!
I'm so dazzled, I take you for a banished immortal.
You can hold your own with my poet-friends,
inscribing beautiful lines;
you are grief for the painter, striving to capture you
with his brush!
Your jadelike body can barely support
your white jade jewels;
your feet — gold lotus! — look beautiful
below the saffron-blossom robe.
A hundred years of happiness, an ocean of springtimes —
who cares if frosty white is touching my hair!