guófēng·bīnfēng

15-1

:「《》,。」

In the days of (our) second month, they hew out the ice with harmonious blows ; And in those of (our) third month, they convey it to the ice-houses, (Which they open) in those of (our) fourth, early in the morning A lamb having been offered in sacrifice with scallions. In the ninth month, it is cold, with frost. In the tenth month, they sweep clean their stack-sites. (Taking) the two bottles of spirits to be offered to their ruler, And having killed their lambs and sheep, They go to his hall, And raising the cup of rhinoceros horn, Wish him long life,—that he may live for ever.

Legge · 1879 · public domain

15-2

O owl, O owl! You have already taken my young ones — Do not destroy my nest! With love and labour I reared them — In pity for my little ones. Before the sky yet clouds over, I tear off the mulberry bark, And bind fast the windows and doors. Now you people below — Who dares to affront me? My hands are sore and cramped; I gather the sow-thistle leaves; I heap up my stores; My mouth is worn to the bone — They say I have no house. My feathers are thinned and torn, My tail is ragged and rent. My nest is tottering high — Tossed by wind and rain. I can only cry in fear.

GLM · 2025 · machine-generated

15-3

I went to the eastern hills, Long, long I stayed away. I come from the east now, In the falling, drizzling rain. When in the east I said I would return, My heart yearned to the west with grief. I will make robes and garments, And no more carry the word in my mouth. The writhing caterpillar Lies thick in the mulberry fields. I huddle alone, a-rounded up — Even under the chariot I sleep. I went to the eastern hills... The fruit of the gourd-vine Hangs along the eaves. Wood-lice crawl in the house, Spiders weave at the door. The deer tread the village paths, The glow-worms flit at night. It is not to be dreaded — But it is a place to long for. I went to the eastern hills... The stork cries on the ant-hill; The wife sighs in the house. Sweep the rooms, fill the cracks — My soldier is coming home. The gourd is round and bitter, Piled among the chestnut faggots. Since we parted, It is now three years. I went to the eastern hills... The golden oriole flies, Its plumage glittering. The lady went to her new home, The horses bay and chestnut. Her mother tied her sash, With ninety ceremonials. The new wife is very fair — But what of the old?

GLM · 2025 · machine-generated

15-4

My axe is broken, And my adze is chipped. The duke of Zhou marched east — And the four quarters stood in awe. Alas for us, the people! How great our deliverance! My axe is broken, And my chisel is chipped. The duke of Zhou marched east — And the four quarters were reformed. Alas for us, the people! How good our deliverance! My axe is broken, And my mallet is chipped. The duke of Zhou marched east — And the four quarters were brought to order. Alas for us, the people! How blessed our deliverance!

GLM · 2025 · machine-generated

15-5

The fish in the nine-meshed net — The trout and the bream. I see this man, In his embroidered robes and figured skirt. The wild goose flies along the islet — The duke goes home to no fixed place. With you I would stay awhile. The wild goose flies along the shore — The duke goes home, to return no more. With you I would stay another night. Therefore he has his embroidered robes — Do not let my duke go away! Do not make my heart sad!

GLM · 2025 · machine-generated