The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
2Reed and rush luxuriant rise;
Still undried the white dew lies.
Him, the man I have in mind,
On the stream's edge I should find.
Upwards first my course I keep,
Though the way is rough and steep. p. 144
Downwards then, and what to see?
In the midstream standeth he,
On the islet, far removed;—
Vain has all my searching proved.
3Reed and rush grow thick and tall;
Ceases not the dew to fall.
Him, the man I have in mind,
On the stream's bank I should find.
Upwards first I go along,
But the hard path leads me wrong.
Downwards then my steps I turn,
And in midstream him discern,
On the island, far removed;—
Vain has all my searching proved.