1. How many a day with fickle joy have I spent,
Laughing at its inconsistency, wondering.

2. But I fear the fickleness of its breezes,
For man is helpless before what is foreordained.

3. No happy day of shifting hues comes to pass
Without cold and heat swiftly following each other.

4. Its beginning is pierced with ice and embers,
Its end is cloaked with frost and burning thirst.