Classic of Poetry

The fibres from the white flowered rush, Are bound with the white grass. This man’s sending me away Makes me dwell solitary.

The light and brilliant clouds Bedew the rush and the grass. The way of Heaven is hard and difficult;— This man does not conform [to good principle].

How the water from the pools flows away to the north, Flooding the rice fields! I whistle and sing with wounded heart, Thinking of that great man.

They gather firewood of branches of the mulberry trees, And I burn them [only] in a [small] furnace. That great man Does indeed toil and trouble my heart.

Their drums and bells are beaten in the palace, And their sound is heard without. All-sorrowful I think of him;— He thinks of me without any regard.

The marabou is on the dam; The [common] crane is in the forest. That great man Does indeed toil and trouble my heart.

The Yellow ducks are on the dam, With their left wings gathered up. That man is bad, Ever varying in his conduct.

How thin is that slab of stone! He that stands on it is low. That man’s sending me away Makes me full of affliction.