The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2With figure large I in the courtyard dance.
And the duke smiles, when he beholds me prance.
A tiger's strength I have; the steeds swift bound;
The reins as ribbons in my hands are found.
3See how I hold the flute in my left hand;
In right the pheasant's plume, waved like a wand;
With visage red, where rouge you think to trace,
While the duke pleased, sends down the cup of grace!
4Hazels on hills; the ling in meadow damp;—
Each has its place, while I'm a slighted scamp.
My thoughts go back to th’ early days of Chou,
And muse upon its chiefs, not equaled now.
O noble chiefs, who then the west adorned,
Would ye have thus neglected me and scorned?