This may be a morning dim,
Yet the sun will shine.
The day has just begun
And all the luck is mine.
The week has just started,
Birds sing in buoyant welcome;
This time round I'll win
As long as I'm calm.
The month is still virgin,
Not a single day is spent;
I will have all the long days
Till pleasures begin to torment.
The year is new and all is fine,
None of my chances is spoilt;
More pleasured I will be this year
And spend more time under my quilt.
Everything's unsullied new:
I'll use every bit with thoughtful care;
I'll taste all the nectared wines
And feel the whispery music of the air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem