The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
2Ascending high that southern hill,
Turtle ferns I strove to get.
While I my husband do not see,
Sorrow must my heart beset.
O to meet him!
O to greet him!
Then my heart would cease to fret.
3Ascending high that southern hill,
Spinous ferns I sought to find.
While I my husband do not see,
Rankles sorrow in my mind.
O to meet him!
O to greet him!
Then my heart would peace be shrined.