The Chüan Êrh; narrative. Lamenting the absence of a cherished friend, probably of a husband.

1Though small my basket, all my toil
  Filled it with mouse-ears but in part.
I set it on the path, and sighed
  For the dear master of my heart.

2My steeds, o’ertasked, their progress stayed,
  When midway up that rocky height.
Give me a cup from that gilt vase,
  When shall this longing end in sight?

3To mount that lofty ridge I drove,
  Until my steeds all changed their hue.
A cup from that rhinoceros’ horn
  May help my longing to subdue.

4Striving to reach that flat-topped hill,
  My steeds, worn out, relaxed their strain;
My driver also sank oppressed:
  I'll never see my lord again!