The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
2Many the fagots bound and piled;
The thorns I'd hew still more to make.
As brides, those girls their new homes seek;
Their colts to feed I'd undertake.
Like the broad Han are they,
Through which one cannot dive;
And like the Kiang's long stream,
Wherewith no raft can strive.
3Many the fagots bound and piled;
The southernwood I'd cut for more.
As brides, those girls their new homes seek;
Food for their colts I'd bring large store.
Like the broad Han are they,
Through which one cannot dive;
And like the Kiang's long stream,
Wherewith no raft can strive.