  THE CONTENTMENT OF A POOR RECLUSEMy only door some pieces of crossed wood, Within it I can rest enjoy. I drink the water wimpling from the spring; Nor hunger can my peace destroy. Purged from ambition's aims I say, "For fish, We need not bream caught in the Ho; Nor, to possess the sweets of love, require To Ts‘e, to find a Keang, to go. "The man contented with his lot, a meal Of fish without Ho carp can make; Nor needs, to rest in his domestic joy, A Tsze of Sung as wife to take." THE DISAPPOINTED LOVERWhere grow the willows near the eastern gate, And 'neath their leafy shade we could recline, She said at evening she would me await, And brightly now I see the day-star shine! Grow, and their dense leaves make a shady gloom, She said at evening she would me await. See now the morning star the sky illume! A LOVE-SONGThe moon comes forth, bright in the sky; A lovelier sight to draw my eye Is she, that lady fair. She round my heart has fixed love's chain, But all my longings are in vain. 'Tis hard the grief to bear. The moon comes forth, a splendid sight; More winning far that lady bright, Object of my desire! Deep-seated is my anxious grief; In vain I seek to find relief, While glows the secret fire. The rising moon shines mild and fair; More bright is she, whose beauty rare My heart with longing fills. With eager wish I pine in vain; O for relief from constant pain, Which through my bosom thrills! THE LAMENT OF A LOVERThere where its shores the marsh surround, Rushes and lotus plants abound. Their loveliness brings to my mind The lovelier one that I would find. Of wounded love that wrings my heart. In waking thought and nightly dreams, From every pore the water streams. All round the marsh's shores are seen Valerian flowers and rushes green. But lovelier is that Beauty rare, Handsome and large, and tall and fair. I wish and long to call her mine, Doomed with the longing still to pine. Nor day nor night e'er brings relief; My inmost heart is full of grief. Around the marsh, in rich display, Grow rush and lotus flowers, all gay. But not with her do they compare, So tall and large, majestic, fair. Both day and night, I nothing speed; Still clings to me the aching need. On side, on back, on face, I lie, But vain each change of posture try. |
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