Classic Poem

Don't go hide in the deep mountains—
you'll only come to hate it.
Your teeth will ache with the chill of dawn water,
your face smart from the bite of the night frost.
Go off fishing and winds will blow up from the cove;
return from gathering firewood to find snow all over the cliffs.
Better come drink wine with me,
face to face get mellowly, mellowly drunk.