The grass does not refuse To flourish in the spring wind. The leaves are not angry At falling through the autumn sky. Who, with whip or spur Can urge the feet of Time? The things of the world flourish and decay, Each at its own hour. From The Sun, by Li Po, translated by Arthur Waley.
The Sun – by Li Po
September 21, 2020September 21, 2020| | 0 Comment