Classic of Poetry

Brilliant are the flowers, On those level heights and the low grounds. Complete and alert is the messenger, with his suite, Ever anxious lest he should not succeed.

My horses are young; The six reins look as if they were moistened. I gallop them, and urge them on, Everywhere pushing my inquiries.

My horses are piebald; The six reins are like silk. I gallop them, and urge them on, Everywhere seeking information and counsel.

My horses are white and black-maned; The six reins look glossy. I gallop them and urge them on, Everywhere seeking information and advice.

My horses are grey; The six reins are well in hand. I gallop them and urge them on, Everywhere seeking information and suggestions.