An Officer Sets Forth His Hard Lot

  My way leads forth by the gate on the north;
    My heart is full of woe. 
  I hav’n’t a cent, begged, stolen, or lent,
    And friends forget me so. 
     So let it be! ’tis Heaven’s decree. 
     What can I say—­a poor fellow like me?

  The King has his throne, sans sorrow or moan;
    On me fall all his cares,
  And when I come home, resolved not to roam,
    Each one indignant stares. 
     So let it be! ’tis Heaven’s decree. 
     What can I say—­a poor fellow like me?

  Each thing of the King, and the fate of the State,
    On me come more and more. 
  And when, sad and worn, I come back forlorn,
    They thrust me from the door. 
      So let it be! ’tis Heaven’s decree. 
      What can I say—­a poor fellow like me?

The Complaint of a Neglected Wife

  When the upper robe is green,
  With a yellow lining seen,
  There we have a certain token,
  Right is wronged and order broken. 
  How can sorrow from my heart
  In a case like this depart?

  Color green the robe displays;
  Lower garment yellow’s blaze. 
  Thus it is that favorite mean
  In the place of wife is seen. 
  Vain the conflict with my grief;
  Memory denies relief.

  Yes, ’twas you the green who dyed,
  You who fed the favorite’s pride. 
  Anger rises in my heart,
  Pierces it as with a dart. 
  But on ancient rules lean I,
  Lest to wrong my thoughts should fly.

  Fine or coarse, if thin the dress,
  Cold winds always cause distress. 
  Hard my lot, my sorrow deep,
  But my thoughts in check I keep. 
  Ancient story brings to mind
  Sufferers who were resigned.

[NOTE.—­Yellow is one of the five “correct” colors of the Chinese, while green is one of the “intermediate” colors that are less esteemed.  Here we have the yellow used merely as a lining to the green, or employed in the lower, or less honorable, part of the dress;—­an inversion of propriety, and intimating how a favorite had usurped the place of the rightful wife and thrust her down.]

In Praise of a Maiden

  O sweet maiden, so fair and retiring,
    At the corner I’m waiting for you;
  And I’m scratching my head, and inquiring
    What on earth it were best I should do.

  Oh! the maiden, so handsome and coy,
    For a pledge gave a slim rosy reed. 
  Than the reed is she brighter, my joy;
    On her loveliness how my thoughts feed!

  In the pastures a t’e blade she sought,
    And she gave it, so elegant, rare. 
  Oh! the grass does not dwell in my thought,
    But the donor, more elegant, fair.

Discontent

  As when the north winds keenly blow,
  And all around fast falls the snow,
  The source of pain and suffering great,
  So now it is in Wei’s poor state. 
  Let us join hands and haste away,
    My friends and lovers all. 
  ’Tis not a time will brook delay;
    Things for prompt action call.