Bright green young grass comes up in the garden,
Wet with dew before the day gets warm.
The fecund Spring pours out its gifts.
All nature radiates a kind of glory.
A lonely girl thinks with dread
Of the coming Autumn, and the time
Of withering flowers and falling bright gold leaves.
The Great River flows steadily to the East.
When has anyone ever made it
Return to the Western Springs?
If, when you’re young and fair,
You don’t realize your possibilities,
When you get old you’ll have nothing
But sorrow to look back on.
ANONYMOUS (HAN DYNASTY)