The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
2 Fretted the waters seem,
Yet gently flows the stream;—
A bundle of thorns twill not bear.
Guarding Fu here we roam,
Wives and children at home,
All absent our toils who should share.
We think of them ever;
Thought parts from them never;—
What month shall we homeward repair?
3 Fretted the waters seem,
Yet gently flows the stream;
The reed bundle powerless to bear.
Guarding Hsü here we roam,
Wives and children at home,
All absent our toils who should share.
We think of them ever;
Thought parts from them never;—
What month shall we homeward repair?