The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
2The bushy southernwood is flooded o’er,
By the cold waters from that spring which pour;—
Fit emblem of our state unblest.
In the dark night, restless, I wake and sigh,
And to my thoughts Chou's capital comes nigh,
When through its kings the land had rest.
3The bushy plants, whose stalks serve to divine
Beneath the waters of that cold spring pine;—
Fit emblem of our state unblest.
In the dark night, restless, I wake and sigh,
And to my thoughts Chou's capital comes nigh,
When through its kings the land had rest.
4Of old there fell the fertilizing rains,
And brightly shone the millet on our plains;—
The land knew no oppression hard.
The states the king's authority obeyed,
And to each lord, for loyal service paid,
The chief of Hsün dispensed reward.