Where the grounds are wet and low, There the trees of goat-peach grow. Soft and fragrant are their flowers, Glossy from the vernal showers. Joy it were to me, O tree, Ties of home to want like thee. Where the grounds are wet and low, There the trees of goat-peach grow, What delicious fruits they bear, Glossy, soft, of beauty rare! Joy it were to me, O tree, Household cares to want like thee. BOOK XIV THE ODES OF TS'AOU ~Against Frivolous Pursuits~ Like splendid robes appear the wings Of the ephemeral fly; And such the pomp of those great men, Which soon in death shall lie! I grieve! Would they but come to me! To teach them I should try. The wings of the ephemeral fly Are robes of colors gay; And such the glory of those men, Soon crumbling to decay! I grieve! Would they but rest with me, They'd learn a better way! The ephemeral fly bursts from its hole, With gauzy wings like snow; So quick the rise, so quick the fall, Of those great men we know! I grieve! Would they but lodge with me, Forth they would wiser go. BOOK XV THE ODES OF PIN ~The Duke of Chow Tells of His Soldiers~ To the hills of the east we went, And long had we there to remain. When the word of recall was sent, Thick and fast came the drizzling rain. When told our return we should take, Our hearts in the West were and sore; But there did they clothes for us make:-- They knew our hard service was o'er. On the mulberry grounds in our sight The large caterpillars were creeping; Lonely and still we passed the night, All under our carriages sleeping. To the hills of the East we went, And long had we there to remain. When the word of recall was sent, Thick and fast came the drizzling rain. The heavenly gourds rise to the eye, With their fruit hanging under the eave. In our chambers the sow-bug we spy; Their webs on our doors spiders weave. Our paddocks seem crowded with deer, With the glow-worm's light all about. Such thoughts, while they filled us with fear, We tried, but in vain, to keep out. To the hills of the East we went, And long had we there to remain. When the word of recall was sent, Thick and fast came the drizzling rain. On ant-hills screamed cranes with delight; In their rooms were our wives sighing sore. Our homes they had swept and made tight:-- All at once we arrived at the door. The bitter gourds hanging are seen, From branches of chestnut-trees high. Three years of toil away we had been, Since such a sight greeted the eye.