The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2The barbel of the south are largely caught
In wicker nets, which then to land are brought.
The host has round him called each noble guest;
They drink with him, delighted with the feast.
3The southern trees with drooping branches grow,
Round which the sweet gourds clasp and twine below.
His noble guests around the host we see;
They drink with him, and feast in cheerful glee.
4About the filial doves incessant fly;
Flock follows flock, in wheeling circles high.
The noble guests long at their cups remain;
They freely drink, and then they drink again.