Around the marsh, in rich display,
Grow rush and lotus flowers, all gay. 
But not with her do they compare,
So tall and large, majestic, fair. 
Both day and night, I nothing speed;
Still clings to me the aching need. 
On side, on back, on face, I lie,
But vain each change of posture.

THE ODES OF KWEI

The Wish of an Unhappy Man

  Where the grounds are wet and low,
  There the trees of goat-peach grow,
  With their branches small and smooth,
  Glossy in their tender youth. 
  Joy it were to me, O tree,
  Consciousness to want like thee.

  Where the grounds are wet and low,
  There the trees of goat-peach grow. 
  Soft and fragrant are their flowers,
  Glossy from the vernal showers. 
  Joy it were to me, O tree,
  Ties of home to want like thee.

  Where the grounds are wet and low,
  There the trees of goat-peach grow,
  What delicious fruits they bear,
  Glossy, soft, of beauty rare! 
  Joy it were to me, O tree,
  Household cares to want like thee.

BOOK XIV

THE ODES OF TS’AOU

Against Frivolous Pursuits

  Like splendid robes appear the wings
    Of the ephemeral fly;
  And such the pomp of those great men,
    Which soon in death shall lie! 
  I grieve!  Would they but come to me! 
    To teach them I should try.

  The wings of the ephemeral fly
    Are robes of colors gay;
  And such the glory of those men,
    Soon crumbling to decay! 
  I grieve!  Would they but rest with me,
    They’d learn a better way!

  The ephemeral fly bursts from its hole,
    With gauzy wings like snow;
  So quick the rise, so quick the fall,
    Of those great men we know! 
  I grieve!  Would they but lodge with me,
    Forth they would wiser go.

BOOK XV

THE ODES OF PIN

The Duke of Chow Tells of His Soldiers

  To the hills of the east we went,
    And long had we there to remain. 
  When the word of recall was sent,
    Thick and fast came the drizzling rain. 
  When told our return we should take,
    Our hearts in the West were and sore;
  But there did they clothes for us make:—­
    They knew our hard service was o’er. 
  On the mulberry grounds in our sight
    The large caterpillars were creeping;
  Lonely and still we passed the night,
    All under our carriages sleeping.