Celebrating T’ae-Sze’s Freedom from Jealousy

  In the South are the trees whose branches are bent,
  And droop in such fashion that o’er their extent
    All the dolichos’ creepers fast cling. 
  See our princely lady, from whom we have got
  Rejoicing that’s endless!  May her happy lot
    And her honors repose ever bring!

  In the South are the trees whose branches are bent,
  And droop in such fashion that o’er their extent
    All the dolichos’ creepers are spread. 
  See our princely lady, from whom we have got
  Rejoicing that’s endless!  Of her happy lot
    And her honors the greatness ne’er fade!

  In the South are the trees whose branches are bent,
  And droop in such fashion that o’er their extent
    All the dolichos’ creepers entwine. 
  See our princely lady, from whom we have got
  Rejoicing that’s endless!  May her happy lot
    And her honors complete ever shine!

The Fruitfulness of the Locust

  Ye locusts, winged tribes,
    Gather in concord fine;
  Well your descendants may
    In numerous bright hosts shine!

  Ye locusts, winged tribes,
    Your wings in flight resound;
  Well your descendants may
    In endless lines be found!

  Ye locusts, winged tribes,
    Together cluster strong;
  Well your descendants may
    In swarms forever throng!

Lamenting the Absence of a Cherished Friend

  Though small my basket, all my toil
    Filled it with mouse-ears but in part. 
  I set it on the path, and sighed
    For the dear master of my heart.

  My steeds, o’er-tasked, their progress stayed,
    When midway up that rocky height. 
  Give me a cup from that gilt vase—­
    When shall this longing end in sight?

  To mount that lofty ridge I drove,
    Until my steeds all changed their hue. 
  A cup from that rhinoceros’s horn
    May help my longing to subdue.

  Striving to reach that flat-topped hill,
    My steeds, worn out, relaxed their strain;
  My driver also sank oppressed:—­
    I’ll never see my lord again!

Celebrating the Goodness of the Descendants of King Wan

As the feet of the lin, which avoid each living thing,
So our prince’s noble sons no harm to men will bring. 
They are the lin!

As the front of the lin, never forward thrust in wrath,
So our prince’s noble grandsons of love tread the path. 
They are the lin!

As the horn of the lin, flesh-tipped, no wound to give,
So our prince’s noble kindred kindly with all live. 
They are the lin!