The Last Revel

From silver lamps a thin blue smoke is streaming,
And golden vases ’mid the feast are gleaming;
Now sound the lutes in unison,
Within the gates our lives are one.
We’ll think not of the parting ways
As long as dawn delays.

When in tall trees the dying moonbeams quiver:
When floods of fire efface the Silver River,
Then comes the hour when I must seek
Lo-Yang beyond the furthest peak.
But the warm twilight round us twain
Will never rise again.