How often does the bright moon come?
With Wine, I ask of the blue sky.
In the heavily palaces,
I wish to return there, riding the wind,
but fear that in the high places of jade halls and eaves,
I cannot fend off the cold. Rising to dance with my clear shadow,
scarcely possible that I among men,
turn around the red lacquered pavilions,
dip below the silken-curtained windows,
shine on the sleepless.

There ought not be regrets,
but why so often are you full at times of parting?
Men have sorrow and joy and farewell and union.
The moon has clouds and clear skies,
waxing and waning.

Perfection is rare since days of old,
so wish only that the years be long,
to share beauty even across a thousand miles.

~ Su Shih