On the quantity of the stars
Let us not discuss tonight
Continue sipping wine under the rustling boughs
Quaff slow by slow
Quaff bit by bit
The number of the stars that out of heaven's windows came to look
Though finite, so much be
Let us sip this wine
The parent vine was good
So let us lose ourselves and lose our senses
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem