The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2The dew lies heavy, and its gems
Stud the luxuriant, grassy stems.
The happy night with wassail rings;
So feasted here the former kings.
3The jujube and the willow tree
All fretted with the dew we see.
Each guest's a prince of noble line,
In whom the virtues all combine.
4The t‘ung and i their fruits display,
Pendent from every graceful spray.
My guests are joyous and serene,
No haggard eye, no ruffled mien.