Classic of Poetry

The wild geese are flying about; Suh-suh goes the rustle of their wings. [There were] those officers engaged on the commission. Pained were we and toiled in the open fields; All were objects of pity, But alas for those wifeless and widows!

The wild geese are flying about, And they settle in the midst of the marsh. [There were] those officers directing the rearing of the walls;— Five thousand cubits of them arose at once. Though there was pain and toil, In the end we had rest in our dwellings.

The wild geese are flying about, And melancholy is their cry of gaou-gaou. There were they, wise men, Who recognized our pain and toil; If they had been stupid men, They would have said we were proclaiming our insolence.