Thy disc, O sun, should ever be complete, While thine, O changing moon, doth wax and wane. But now our sun hath waned, weak and effete, And moons are ever full. My heart with pain Is firmly bound, and held in sorrow's chain, As to the body cleaves an unwashed dress. Silent I think of my sad case; in vain I try to find relief from my distress. Would I had wings to fly where ills no longer press! ~A Wife Deplores the Absence of Her Husband~ Away the startled pheasant flies, With lazy movement of his wings. Borne was my heart's lord from my eyes;-- What pain the separation brings! The pheasant, though no more in view, His cry, below, above, forth sends. Alas! my princely lord, 'tis you-- Your absence, that my bosom rends. At sun and moon I sit and gaze, In converse with my troubled heart. Far, far from me my husband stays! When will he come to heal its smart? Ye princely men who with him mate, Say, mark ye not his virtuous way. His rule is--covet nought, none hate;-- How can his steps from goodness stray? ~The Plaint of a Rejected Wife~ The east wind gently blows, With cloudy skies and rain. 'Twixt man and wife should ne'er be strife, But harmony obtain. Radish and mustard plants Are used, though some be poor; While my good name is free from blame, Don't thrust me from your door. I go along the road, Slow, with reluctant heart. Your escort lame to door but came, There glad from me to part. Sow-thistle, bitter called, As shepherd's purse is sweet; With your new mate you feast elate, As joyous brothers meet. Part clear, the stream of King Is foul beside the Wei. You feast elate with your new mate, And take no heed of me. Loose mate, avoid my dam, Nor dare my basket move! Person slighted, life all blighted, What can the future prove? The water deep, in boat, Or raft-sustained, I'd go; And where the stream did narrow seem, I dived or breasted through. I labored to increase Our means, or great or small; When 'mong friends near death did appear, On knees to help I'd crawl. No cherishing you give, I'm hostile in your eyes. As pedler's wares for which none cares, My virtues you despise. When poverty was nigh, I strove our means to spare; You, now rich grown, me scorn to own; To poison me compare. The stores for winter piled Are all unprized in spring. So now, elate with your new mate, Myself away you fling. Your cool disdain for me A bitter anguish hath. The early time, our love's sweet prime, In you wakes only wrath. ~Soldiers of Wei Bewail Separation from Their Families~ List to the thunder and roll of the drum! See how we spring and brandish the dart! Some raise Ts'aou's walls; some do field work at home; But we to the southward lonely depart.