Guan! Guan! Cry the fish hawks
on sandbars in the river:
a mild-mannered good girl,
fine match for the gentleman.

A ragged fringe is the floating-heart,
left and right we trail it:
that mild-mannered good girl,
awake, asleep, I search for her.

I search and cannot find her,
awake, asleep, thinking of her,
endlessly, endlessly,
turning, tossing from side to side.

A ragged fringe is the floating-heart,
left and right we pick it:
the mild-mannered good girl,
harp and lute make friends with her.

A ragged fringe is the floating-heart,
left and right we sort it:
the mild-mannered good girl,
bell and drum delight her.


How the dolichos spreads,
trailing through the valley,
its leaves so lush.
The yellow bird in flight
gathers on the bushes,
its song so clear.

How the dolichos spreads,
trailing through the valley,
its leaves so dense.
We cut it, we boil it,
fine cloth, coarse cloth—
we wear it without weariness.

I told my governess,
I told her I would go home.
I will wash my underclothes,
I will rinse my dress.
What needs washing? What does not?
I am going home to greet my parents.


Picking and picking the curly-ear,
yet I cannot fill my shallow basket.
Sighing, I think of my beloved,
I lay the basket down on the road.

I climb that craggy mountain,
my horses are exhausted.
For now I'll pour from this gold cup,
that I may not dwell on long sorrow.

I climb that high ridge,
my horses are sallow with fatigue.
For now I'll pour from this rhino-horn cup,
that I may not be wounded with long grief.

I climb that stony hill,
my horses are sick.
My driver is worn out—
how heavy my heart!


The peach tree is young and slender,
its blossoms blazing bright.
This girl is going to her home,
she will fit in her chamber and her house.

The peach tree is young and slender,
its fruit hanging full.
This girl is going to her home,
she will fit in her household.

The peach tree is young and slender,
its leaves luxuriant.
This girl is going to her home,
she will fit in her family.


Picking and picking the plantains—
let us pick them.
Picking and picking the plantains—
let us hold them.

Picking and picking the plantains—
let us pluck them.
Picking and picking the plantains—
let us strip them off.

Picking and picking the plantains—
let us tuck them in our skirts.
Picking and picking the plantains—
let us bundle them at our waists.