The moon comes forth, bright in the sky; A lovelier sight to draw my eye Is she, that lady fair. She round my heart has fixed love's chain, But all my longings are in vain. 'Tis hard the grief to bear. The moon comes forth, a splendid sight; More winning far that lady bright, Object of my desire! Deep-seated is my anxious grief; In vain I seek to find relief, While glows the secret fire. The rising moon shines mild and fair; More bright is she, whose beauty rare My heart with longing fills. With eager wish I pine in vain; O for relief from constant pain, Which through my bosom thrills! THE LAMENT OF A LOVER There where its shores the marsh surround, Rushes and lotus plants abound. Their loveliness brings to my mind The lovelier one that I would find. In vain I try to ease the smart Of wounded love that wrings my heart. In waking thought and nightly dreams, From every pore the water streams. All round the marsh's shores are seen Valerian flowers and rushes green. But lovelier is that Beauty rare, Handsome and large, and tall and fair. I wish and long to call her mine, Doomed with the longing still to pine. Nor day nor night e'er brings relief; My inmost heart is full of grief. Around the marsh, in rich display, Grow rush and lotus flowers, all gay. But not with her do they compare, So tall and large, majestic, fair. Both day and night, I nothing speed; Still clings to me the aching need. On side, on back, on face, I lie, But vain each change of posture try. BOOK XIII _The Odes of Kwei_ THE WISH OF AN UNHAPPY MAN Where the grounds are wet and low, There the trees of goat-peach grow, With their branches small and smooth, Glossy in their tender youth. Joy it were to me, O tree, Consciousness to want like thee. 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!