The wind in May blows on the flowers, and the blossoming flowers reveal their fragrance. If, flower, you do know the vicissitudes of the sea of humanity, she should lower her head and cry to the end of her heart. The wind in May blows on the trees, and the birds on the branches sing. If, bird, you do know, the sun As the moon waxes and wanes, she should sigh and hide shyly in her singing voice. The wind of May blows in the sky. The clouds are golden in color. If, clouds, you really know the rise and fall of the world, she should turn around and leave this place. - "The Wind of May" by Zhou Xuan, 1934
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