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Five days of the new year have passed;
My life is drawing near the last.
Can I not free my heart from sorrow?
We make this trip before tomorrow.
Steeped in fresh air and bright sunbeam,
We sit along the rippling stream.
In sparkling waves breams swim with pleasure;
In quiet vales gulls scream at leisure.
The brimming lake arrests the eye;
I muse on the pagoda high.
Though not so high as the Ninth Tier,
It commands a view without peer.
I pass the jar of wine around,
And ask friends in wine to be drowned.
I know not if another day
We can enjoy still in this way.
Half drunk, we may blow hot or cold,
Forgetting the sorrow age-old.
If we can enjoy our fill but now,
Oh, let tomorrow knit its brow!